#PREV TAGS WELL YES WATCH IT

[theyhaveacavetroll]

OP how could you hide the best parts of this post in the tags?

Odysseus with his head in his wife's lap, happily not paying attention to anything, humming one of athenas song and carving something

Some random guy: your majesty----

Odysseus: not bothering to sit up: whatever my wife decided is fine.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Tantrums Pt 2 | Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: After flushing a ten year relationship down the drain, Lewis realises he wants nothing more than to win you back. Especially when he sees you doing everything in your will to make him suffer.

Warnings: slight age gap, reader is 32. angst. swearing. pettiness

Requested: @madelynn-sienna and a whole bunch of you on part 1

F1 Masterlist

This is a long one, sorry

prev.

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roscoelovescoco just posted

liked by albon_pets, charles_leclerc and others

roscoelovescoco i am’s 12 today’s 🥳 thanks for’s all’s the birthday’s love’s. just as handsome’s as ever’s

44,985 comments

lewishamilton happy birthday to my boy

yn_ln oh, i miss when he was that little. happy birthday to my cutest boy 💕

user1 not yn and lewis both using my boy instead of our boy 

user2 i feel like lewis was behind this post ‘cause he used the cutest pic of him and roscoe

→ user3 yes, he looks so boyfriend coded in this 

→ user4 i feel like that’s the point? 

→ user5 i bet it’s because he’s trying to remind yn of how much she loves her boys

→ user4 but this doesn’t even include yn’s face

albon_pets happy birthday, roscoe! love from the whole gang

user6 everyone is saying lewis posted this to win yn back but i actually feel he’s posting this as a snub

→ user7 he hasn’t included yn’s face despite there being millions of pics of her and roscoe. like, that’s been her dog as well for the past 10 years

→ user8 i feel like these two are going to be really petty. i mean, look at how brocedes went

→ user9 i feel like you can’t let go of a 10 year relationship and not be slightly petty

user10 okay but lewis looks so good in this 

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tagheuer just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and others

tagheuer counting down to race time with our formula one collection ambassadors  tagged: maxverstappen1, yn_ln

33,239 comments

yn_ln i think we all know who looks the best though 

→ maxverstappen1 fire her

user1 queen’s been booked and busy lmao

user2 not the red bull brand

redbullracing the best looking ambassadors i’ve ever seen

user3 tag putting yn and max in the same post? does this mean they modelled together?

→ user4 she’s an ambassador for a brand that solely sponsors red bull and is showcasing their f1 collection. of course they modelled together

→ user5 we love to see it

user6 i bet lewis is frothing!

user7 we know who red bull is picking in the divorce 

→ user8 like there was ever a question

user9 i just feel like george will be the one to show this to lewis by going “what do you think about this watch?” 

→ user10 omg yes, he’ll show yn’s pic and say “do you think carmen would like this?” just to watch lewis realise who the model is liked by carmenmmundt 

user11 i know she’s a model so will take the jobs she’s offered but i definitely feel like she accepted this to be a little petty

→ user12 what are the odds that she accepted it with a giggle 

→ user13 as she should

redbullracing just posted

liked by carmenmmundt, schecoperez and others

redbullracing kicking off the mexican grand prix with some famous faces  tagged: yn_ln

23,109 comments

maxverstappen1 famous faces? the only one i recognise here is me

→ yn_ln ha ha ha you’re hilarious.

→ user1 max and yn being besties? when did this happen?

→ yn_ln when we did our shoot for tag and he stuck by my side the entire time. like a child forced into a room with a bunch of their mum’s friends

→ maxverstappen1 you were the only person i knew! 

user2 oh, this isn’t what i was expecting to see when i opened insta 

mercedesamgf1 give her back

→ user3 messy

georgerussell63 oi, she doesn’t belong to you 

→ user4 carmen clearly supports this move

→ georgerussell63 carmen! we can see that you liked this

user5 does this mean lewis and yn are truly over?

→ user6 no! i refuse to accept that this is how it ends 

user7 lewis must be seething 

user8 if anyone hears any loud crashes, that’s lewis throwing things 

landonorris can we have you next?

→ oscarpiastri they seriously need to take away your media 

user9 streets are saying that max was the one who invited her?

user10 please, red bull, fix that damn car so max qualifies at the top, away from lewis, because i fear for our boy’s safety after this 

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yn_ln just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, nicorosberg and others

yn_ln is this what you call an everyday car? 

19,406 comments

user1 wait, what happened to her ferrari?

charles_leclerc i feel betrayed 

→ yn_ln it’s not about you, i promise

porsche a pretty car for a pretty girl 

→ yn_ln my dream car

→ user2 since, uh, when?

user3 is she starting a new collection of cars or is this in lieu of the ferrari?

→ user4 i fear she got rid of the ferrari 

→ user5 or she’s kept it and just has the porsche in addition

user6 this is definitely a deliberate post. lewis bought her her dream car for their anniversary and not even months later, she’s buying a porsche?

→ user7 she can have more than one car

→ user8 yeah but she’s never been a multiple car owner and like user said. the ferrari was her dream car

user9 this feels like a dig at lewis

user10 i say good for her. a man wasted her time so she’s wasting his “gift”

user11 ultimate power move. if only red bull were still aston martin so she could’ve picked aston martin

user12 i bet lewis got mad at her for being in the red bull garage and she decided to wind him up further

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yn_ln just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, roscoelovescoco and others

yn_ln 🖤💋

21,966 comments

carmenmmundt jaw droppped

→ yn_ln 🩷

user1 who is that man?

user2 she thought she could distract us with how hot she looks but we see that man, sis

user3 i hope this one treats her right and gives her everything she deserves

user4 bride yn incoming with a man who will marry her

francisca.cgomes i need that dress and the body in it

→ yn_ln i’ll send you the link, my gorgeous girl

user5 i’m glad she’s moving on because lewis did her dirty so it’s nice to see her recovering from that 

georgerussell63 what’s all this then

→ user6 omg guys, george commented

→ user7 and?

→ user8 he hasn’t commented on any of her posts since her and lewis broke up. does this confirm that the guy in the pic is lewis?

→ user9 may your delulu come trululu

user10 i can’t deal with this today. i know yn deserves the best but she can’t move on

user11 i’m actually in mourning. wdym she’s moving on and getting super hot pics from it

lewishamilton 😅🫣

→ user12 excuse me? i found this comment hidden 1000s of comments down but excuse me?! 

→ user13 what does this mean?!

→ user14 mate, if you want to win her back, you need to try harder

→ user15 he heard people talking about hot she looked and decided to hit her up

→ user16 this is such a pathetic attempt. what happened to his rizz

→ user17 looks like yn took it with her

yn_ln added a new story

lewishamilton added a new story

charles_leclerc added a new story

replies (tweet 1 and 3 are supposed to be swapped)

user1 @/tweet3 she was! kym illman posted her on instagram as their guest for the weekend

→ user2 she had a merc pass and everything

user3 i want to know who invited her and why. she doesn’t model for tommy anymore so she’d have no reason to be their guest

→ user4 i bet it was george

→ user5 nah. toto did it to throw lewis off so he could make his “shelf life” comment look real

user6 the real question is, did lewis know she was going to be there

user7 @/tweet2 we waited 10 years for lewis and yn’s wedding and we don’t get one ever?

→ user8 they broke up. we weren’t getting one anyway?

→ user7 streets are saying that yn and lewis got married in vegas

→ user8 be fucking real. he broke her heart

user9 @/tweet1 fully agree. i bet it was max and charles instead haha

→ danielricciardo he can back off my man! 

→ user10 omg daniel. he may not be on the grid but max is his forever 

user11 people are speculating that they got married because he posted a picture of a chapel?

→ user12 i know. that could mean literally anything?

user13 all the drivers were drunk celebrating max’s fourth wdc so i’m betting it’s a driver marrying another driver instead

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9 months

lewishamilton just posted

liked by nicorosberg, mclaren and others

lewishamilton my whole world

50,440 comments

roscoelovescoco the’s cutest’s sister in all’s the world’s 

user1 the man famous for long captions and he only gives us 3 words?! where’s the details!!

user2 when did this happen!!!

user3 and she has a wedding ring on? they definitely got married in vegas 

user4 guys, she's just changed her name on socials!

georgerussell63 what happens in vegas, does NOT stay in vegas 

charles_leclerc @/alexandrasaintmleux see, i told you we needed a dog AND a baby 

→ yn_hamilton are you going to push the baby out?

→ charles_leclerc i would if biology let me

→ yn_hamilton @/lewishamilton why did you never say this to me?

→ lewishamilton i knew letting you two be friends was a bad idea

yn_hamilton i still can’t believe you brought the ring to vegas

→ lewishamilton i was feeling lucky 

mercedesamgf1 you don’t tell us you got married and now you don’t tell us about the baby

→ scuderiaferrari he’s not your driver anymore?

→ mercedesamgf1 oop, my bad. used to seeing his name and being responsible for his pr

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Baby Fever Angst Series

requests open

tag list

@how-what-why-huh @bibissparkles @strengthandstay @raynetargaryan2 @seonghwaexile @unknownmystery22 @hoeforsirius @jackandsallyandbuttonandsparrow @mbioooo0000 @unstablefemme @strawb3heart @wearethecanadians @ajordan2020 @topaz125 @seasonswinter @fearfam69691 @evie-119 @be-your-coffee-pot @myescapefromthislife @madelynn-sienna @heavy-vettel

[paranoiddreams]

Ch.1 - Spare Tire

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tags/warnings — allusions to death, grief, overall really angsty, assassin!toji, Nobara was adopted by Nanami, Yuji lives with his grandpa and big brother!Sukuna, mamafushiguro is mentioned (not sure if I want to give her a specific name yet), Toji is depressed, Megumi asks a lot of questions, descriptions of murder and killing, one allusion to alcohol consumption, not a lot since this is the first chapter hehe, reader is very confusing and mysterious rn but her side of the story is coming next!

WC — 3.48 k

a/n — oh my god thank you all so so much for all of the support that this series is getting so far!! Chapter one hasn’t even come out yet (until now obviously) and so many people are excited for this series like I am! This chapter is pretty angsty, but we need to hurt before the comfort 🥹 It’s also more of Megumi and Toji but the next chapter will be reader’s POV! I want to make this a story with heavy plot lines, but also with fluff that makes up for the hurt. It’s also a pretty self indulgent series since it’s my first on here lol.

Nobara’s small fingers braid strands of Megumi’s jet-black hair as Yuji spins on the swing wildly next to them. His cherry blossom colored locks are already sticking up from the tiny braids Nobara attempted to put in his hair as well, but gave up after deeming it too short.

“Have you guys ever lost your parents?” Megumi asks as he kicks the rocks below his feet. The chains of the swing holding him up creak as he slowly sways, adding onto the usual ambiance of recess.

“What? Like in the store?” Nobara asks from behind him, still working on his loose braids with her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth.

“Mmm, maybe,” he mumbles, green eyes looking up into the cloudless sky as he thinks. “I didn’t get to ask.”

“Sukuna lost me in the mall once,” Yuji chimes in, his lisp slipping through when he says his brother’s name. “He told me that if I told my grandpa then he’d lose me on purpose next time!”

Nobara clicks her tongue, shaking her head disapprovingly. “You’re both stupid—my daddy always says that I have to stay by his side when we go somewhere because someone bad could try and take me.”

Megumi shakes his head slightly, wincing when Nobara’s fingers pull a strand of his hair roughly. “I was at the car shop with my dad and a woman gave me a quarter for the gumball machine,” he explains, “I got a blue one.”

“You took the quarter?!” She suddenly shrieks, as if he had just stepped on her toes.

“Yes,” he says blankly. “She asked where my dad was, and when I told her about Betty, she said that she lost her dad.” Megumi explains, trying to remember everything the woman said with all of his might.

Yuji’s gaze snaps away from a cloud he was ogling shaped like a duck, back to Megumi. “What?! She lost him?”

“Yeah,” the boy confirms.

A short silence falls over them as Nobara finishes with trying to drain Megumi’s hair, sitting on the third swing.

“Maybe he passed away,” She sighs solemnly. “My daddy’s mom died before he adopted me.”

Yuji gasps softly. “Yeah maybe!”

Megumi shakes his head. “No, I asked her that,” he says.

Nobara pulls one of the practice braids she weaved into his hair, an angry expression on her tiny face.

“Ouch! What was that for?!”

“Why would you ask someone that? How rude!”

Megumi looks down at his old beat up shoes, a wave of embarrassment heating his face. “She said he didn’t,” he mutters.

“Then what happened?”

Nobara and Yuji both look at him in search of an explanation; but Megumi looks as if he’s searching for one as well.

“I don’t know,” he says, “we left before she told me.”

Megumi had spent the rest of the day thinking about the woman and what she could’ve possibly meant. He knew what loss was—the concept of death wasn’t lost on him. But how else could someone lose someone else?

He even asked his dad when they got home, but he was only met with an “I don’t know kid,” before he watched him disappear into the garage to work on the car.

“Maybe you can help her find him,” Yuji’s enthusiastic voice makes Megumi wince slightly.

“Maybe my dad can,” he theorizes, looking up in thought, “he said he finds people sometimes for his job…”

…

Toji’s nail beds are caked with blood and dirt, as well as the material of his sweats.

“Damn it, fuck!” He hisses under his breath. He just washed them, the memory of the journey to the laundromat still present in his mind; Megumi’s stubborn attitude, the long wait, and the stares from concerned mothers and old men.

He’s only snapped out of his temporary agitation when he hears the sound of a blaring train horn in the distance—it’s nearly sunset, which is how he knows that he’s taken way too much time on this job.

As Toji walks to the back of the abandoned building where he parked, he unstraps all of his knives and guns from his body. He opens the passenger door before throwing them inside, right under the loose floorboard. His gaze drifts to the back before closing the door, spotting Megumi’s car seat still strapped into the seat. With a sigh, he slams the passenger door closed and gets into the driver’s side, speeding off before anyone could catch sight of him.

The radio in his car doesn’t work, so the drive home is quiet, as usual. It hasn’t worked for the past 5 years, but Toji’s just never gotten around to replacing it. So he’s gotten used to the silence during morning drives to Megumi’s school, or the ride back from a bloody job worth a few weeks of food on the table.

He was never much of a music guy anyways, and funnily enough, Megumi never was either.

When Toji pulls into the driveway of his house that’s never truly felt like a home, he sighs in relief knowing that Megumi is back from school. But before he opens the front door, he takes a deep breath, ready for a usual evening home. When he does walk in though, it’s just as silent as it was outside.

“Megumi,” Toji calls out, dropping his car keys onto the kitchen table. He spots papers of math equations and grammar practice filled out next to a glass of juice in his usual spot.

“I’m home,” Toji calls out again. He steps into the hallway, the sound of his steel-toed boots echoing loudly against the tile. When he’s only met with silence again, he turns his head to look down the hall towards his son’s bedroom, beams of his yellow night light pouring through his slightly ajar door. He slowly walks over to peek his head in. But all he finds is Megumi fast asleep in his bed, his Spider-Man blanket wrapped around his little body. He’s still wearing his shoes, and his hand is dangling off the end of the mattress, but he looks just as comfortable as ever; like a grown man who’s passed out after a few too many beers. A bit of drool drips from the side of his mouth, onto the pillow under his head. His black hair is a mess around his face.

Toji doesn’t know how he could’ve created something so…small and innocent. He isn’t sure how so much good came from him. But then he catches his son in moments like these, when he’s asleep, or playing outside with his friends, and remembers that beautiful face he’s tried to forget for so long.

Some days, Toji can’t even look at him without seeing her.

…

Megumi wakes up to the sound of his dad’s heavy work boots clomping around in and out of the open garage. He rubs his eyes with his small hand before hopping out of bed and waddling sleepily out of his room.

“Daddy?” He calls out into the empty hall.

Toji peeks around the corner, coming out of the garage. “Get dressed kid,” he says, “we’re going back to the car shop.”

Megumi pulls his hand away from his droopy eyes and looks up at his dad. He looks tired, and if he had to guess, that could only mean he spent the night sitting on the back porch drinking his ‘grown-up juice’.

“Betty’s broken again?” He asks.

“Nah, we just need a spare tire.”

The little boy cocks his head to the side, emerald eyes trained on his father to try and decipher the meaning behind his words.

“Just go get dressed and we can get breakfast after, yeah?”

A rare smile creeps onto Megumi’s face and he nods his head adamantly, his messy locks falling over his eyes. He turns around and speeds down the hall towards his room, his tiny feet pattering against the tile.

Toji warms up the car as he waits for Megumi to get dressed, the garage door wide open. He hears two distant voices across the street, and when he looks up he spots the familiar blonde business man he’s lived in front of for 3 years now. His daughter, Nobara, is tugging on his coat while rambling on about something that Toji can’t make out from where he is.

Nanami’s wife walks out behind them a moment later after locking the front door. She skips over to him and kisses his cheek before picking Nobara up and putting her into the backseat of their car. The little girl’s laughter echoes through the neighborhood, along with the chirps of morning birds singing, and Toji finds himself slightly annoyed.

Does the world have to be so sunny and beautiful while he goes on feeling like he’s stuck? Did the world have to keep spinning after his crumbled right in front of him?

Nanami’s car pulls out of the driveway, the happy family waving at Toji from inside as they drive away down the road. He lets out a low sigh and unlocks his own car, just as the garage door opens.

“I’m ready,” Megumi says when he walks out in a shirt and shorts he put on quickly.

Toji helps him into the back of the car, making sure he’s strapped into his car seat tightly before getting into the driver’s seat himself. He pulls out of the driveway and into the morning sun, immediately putting his visor down to block his rusty green eyes from the rays.

“Daddy, do you remember that lady that was at the car place last time?” Megumi asks as they drive onto the main roads.

Toji’s eyes flicker up to the rear view mirror for a moment to look at his son before the face of the woman his son is referring to pops back up into his mind. He hadn’t given her a thought since that night a few days ago, when Megumi asked him about something the woman told him. But he can barely even remember what that something was since he seldom comes up for air when he drowns himself in work.

“I do,” Toji answers Megumi after a few moments of reminiscing about the woman. He faintly remembers the name y/n attached to the image of her face in his mind. “What about her, kid?”

Megumi looks out the window as he speaks to his father, watching as the traffic lights turn green and red. “I told Nobara and Yuji about how her dad was missing,” he says. “They said that I should ask you to find him for her.”

Toji’s eyes fly back up to the rear view mirror, his scarred lip twitching slightly. “What?”

“I told them that you find people for your job sometimes,” Megumi confirms, “so they said you should find that lady’s dad.”

A soft sigh fills the car, Toji running his fingers through his hair. His face is one of a father’s whose child just asked him what death is. His face carried the same expression when a 4 year old Megumi first asked him what he did for a living to put food on the table and buy his favorite animal crackers.

Toji just didn’t have the heart to tell him what he’s really doing when he’s not home. He doesn’t have it in him to look Megumi in the eyes and tell him that he kills people he only knows the names of for a couple grand.

So, he told him the least monstrous part of his profession.

“I find people.”

It was a meek response compared to the reality of things. He wishes he would have prepared more, maybe before he took the job, just so he had an answer for what he does. And maybe why. But he stopped looking for those answers a long time ago.

“I can’t just find y/n’s dad, it doesn’t work like that,” Toji says after a long pause. He doesn’t even realize the woman’s name slipped from his lips until he hears Megumi softly repeating it to himself in the back.

“Why not?” He asks, expression blank, as if the answer was owed to him.

Toji clears his throat. “Because, it just doesn’t, Megumi. Mr. Shiu gives me my…clients.”

Megumi’s ears perk at the familiar name of his father’s boss. Couldn’t his dad just save the day for once?

“Then can’t you ask Mr. Shiu to talk to her?”

Megumi just wishes that he could say anything but, “My dad finds people,” when it’s his turn to share in class. Because then, when he only manages to get confused looks in return, they ask about his mom. And he’s not sure what to say about her either.

“Can’t, kid. I only know her first name.”

Toji’s not sure why he’s even saying this; even if he did happen to know y/n’s last name he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not even mentioning the fact that people who don’t want to be found will not be found.

“Besides,” he adds on as he pulls into the parking lot of the car shop, “she probably doesn’t want to find him.”

Megumi’s confusion only grows.

“Daddy, why? He’s her dad.”

Toji’s hit, yet again, with another question he doesn’t know how to answer without wanting to smoke a cigarette. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at the all too curious seven year old.

“Well, she’s not a kid anymore, so there’s probably a reason she doesn’t know where he is. Some people just don’t talk to their parents after a while,” he explains slowly. “I don’t.”

Megumi’s eyes widen with realization before he looks out of the car window, the sun just starting to fully rise into the sky. His little face scrunches in thought before he looks back at Toji.

“Will I talk to you when I’m older, daddy?”

A moment of silence passes through the car, sending a chill down both of their spines. The answer Megumi is looking for is one Toji is afraid to even consider.

…

The glass door of the car shop swings open, a small bell chiming as Megumi scuttles in with Toji trailing behind him. He goes immediately to the front counter to talk to a bald man with glasses, the owner of the shop, about the spare tire for Betty.

Megumi takes it upon himself to wander away as soon as the words the two men are exchanging turn into a jumble of adult words. He looks immediately for the two rusty gumball machines near the front window; and to his immense surprise, there’s already a figure standing in front of one.

He dashes towards the machines, turning his head up to look at the figure’s face. And just as he suspected, there she is.

“Oh,” it comes out almost as a question, “the gumball police are back.”

“You’re back,” Megumi retorts, pointing a small finger up at her, “y/n.”

She smiles softly, putting a hand in her pocket. “You remembered? Smart kid.”

He smiles ever so slightly, deciding to leave out the fact that his dad is the one who remembered and reminded him in the car during their conversation.

“I told my dad to find your dad,” Megumi says, tilting his head slightly as he looks up at y/n. “He said that there’s probably a reason you don’t know where he is though—because you’re not a kid, or something.”

Y/n lets out a soft laugh, a little taken aback at how much this kid remembers about their encounter just a few days ago.

“Your dad’s right, there is a reason. There’s a lot of them, actually,” she says, not really knowing why she’s explaining this to a kid. Y/n has always been a brutally honest person, but she’s never met anyone bold enough to actually match it; but now, this kid she bribed with a quarter one time knows about one of her tightly sealed secrets.

“Megumi, what did I say about running off—“

Toji, just like their last trip to the car shop, interrupts a conversation between his son and y/n, the woman who ‘can’t find her dad’.

“You again,” he boasts, as if he’d expected this, “y/n.”

“Toji,” she counters, his name falling from her lips with ease. “It is me, again.”

“You come to this shop often? Or should I be worried about you stalking me?”

Megumi looks up at his dad, a little hand tugging on his pants. He wants to ask if his dad really thinks y/n is stalking them, but when he sees his scarred lip curl into a smile, something he hasn’t seen in a while, he has his answer.

“Yeah, I’m stalking an old man and his kid,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. The same subtle smirk that Toji has on his face settles on her’s as well.

“Old man? I really wouldn’t expect a girl who’s barely an adult to determine if I’m old or not,” Toji says.

Y/n’s smirk turns into a soft smile as she shakes her head. “I can assure you, I am an adult,” she says, looking into Toji’s eyes, “and a woman, not a girl.”

He only raises a brow in response, feeling a burning sensation in his chest as she quickly snaps back at him with the same passive aggressive tone as him. By now, most women would be scoffing and walking away.

“Megumi,” Toji looks down at the now scowling boy; his conversation was yet again interrupted by his dad and he is not happy about it. “Take this,” he says before reaching into his pocket to get a quarter, “and get a gumball while I get the spare tire for Betty and put it in the trunk.”

Megumi looks up at his dad for a moment, before turning to put the quarter into the gumball machine. As he turns the metal knob he hears his dad, and y/n, walk over to the counter of the car shop.

“What a coincidence this is,” Toji says once they’re far enough away from his son, in front of the counter where he was just speaking to the owner; the bald man is still in the back of the shop looking for his tire size. “Makes me think I should ask for your number.”

Y/n mirrors Toji’s stance, huffing out a soft laugh. “Really? What exactly makes you think you need my number?”

“Because,” he says in the same unconvinced tone as her, “I’ve lived here for a while now and I’ve never seen you around.”

He says this with some truth mixed in with his sarcasm; he feels as if he’s met nearly everyone in this small part of town, and never once has he seen this woman. But now he’s run into her again, and in the same place no less. He also knows that if she even has a car, it’s not here; only his, and the owner’s are parked out front.

“But,” he continues, “this is the second time this week we’ve met.”

“Via your son,” y/n adds.

“Yes, the brat,” Toji huffs. “He’s always running off…”

“Well, if you must know,” she sighs after a moment, “I grew up here. I’m back again.”

The man’s eyes run up and down her face, searching for any sign of dishonesty; after being in his profession for as long as he has, he’s adopted the ability to tell when someone is telling the truth, or maybe only half of it. Because humans are predictable. The people around him are all the same, morally weak, copies of one another.

But Toji can tell that y/n is telling the truth—she’s not like the people he’s used to being around, she’s unlike anyone he’s met, which he believes he could bet a lot of money on despite this only being their second conversation.

Although, he can also tell there’s something that she isn’t telling him.

The two are suddenly interrupted when the sound of the owner’s heavy boots interrupt them as he returns from the back of the shop. He lays the spare tire Toji requested onto the counter, a sleazy smirk on his face as he looks between him and y/n.

Toji huffs and stares the grimey man down as he grabs the tire, before turning his head to look at her again.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a softer expression than before. “It was nice to see you—again.”

He then turns around to walk away from her, prepared to call for Megumi, who’s now tapping impatiently on the glass bowl of the gumball machine. But he stops when he hears a soft giggle followed by y/n’s voice:

“Gonna give up on my number that easily?”

Toji turns around with an incredulous smile on his face and feels something inside of him come back to life after being dead and gone what feels like centuries.

♡🏷️: @palmtreepanik0 @nina-from-317 @your-mum3000 @dahwcwb @weeezeerrss @just-lilita @averyjadedemerald @pinkhoneydrop @gina239 @tojisrealwifey @teacuup @cor-asomatum @newcina @deathrye @yoymii @evilari111 @sonakshrs @gradmacoco @edgyficuselastica @yourgirljasmine5 @Ivrndkoo @kaiparkerwifes @evilari111 @sonakshrs @llamatravel @ourfinalisation @aiahmwah @xoxoblueyy @1lastair @lavenderdaydream97 @imnotlurkingherepls @idkccdfnfz @amortsukii-writes @totallygyomeiswife @vehuzzzz @tinytinalifes @youngwizardfox if I forgot anyone I apologize!! Please let me know if you want to be on the permanent tag list in the comments below!

[livwritessometimes]

I LOVE YOU!

: Part 11 (Oscar's Version)

: It's bout time Oscar comes clean about his feelings

: Prev | Next

: Series Masterlist

: Main Masterlist

: author’s note - I almost had a heart attack!!! this fic was scheduled and it did not release and it wasn’t showing in the scheduled section and I almost lost it

…

“Oscar??” Y/n said, confused, as she made her way towards the man in front of her. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked as she finally got a better view of the comp science major standing under the lights that cast a soft glow on his face. 

"Y/n," Oscar said, a hint of nervousness laced his voice. "I'm glad you came!" he said.

"Wait, are you the one who left that message??" Y/n asked. Not bothering to wait for a reply, she continued, "How did you even do that? Wasn't Mr. Stella working on it? So how did you even get the chance to change that? Unless you were working on it with him. Is that what you were doing? Why? First you ignore me, keep on making excuses, ditch me to hang out with another girl, and then when I get someone else to help me with this, you go behind my back and work on it?? How does that even make sense? Osc-" Her ramble was cut short with Oscar suddenly shouting, "Stop! Y/n, would you please stop for the love of God and let me explain?" 

The girl instantly fell silent, waiting for the boy to continue. "Yes, I changed the form so that you could get the coordinates. I had gone to Mr. Stella and begged him if I could work on the form and finish what I had started with you," Oscar said.

"Why? Why would you do all that? Because I told you I don't need your help? Is that why you decided to call me here late at night? and for what?" Y/n said, feeling herself get teary-eyed by the sudden outburst of emotions. "Do you not want me to do well in the assignment? Is that what this is because if that is why you are doing all of this Oscar Piastri, I swear to god?" 

"I did this because I LOVE YOU," Oscar blurted out; he could not take it any longer. He could not keep his mouth shut and watch the girl he loves think he did all of this out of spite.

Y/n felt her heart stop. This was not what she was expecting when she left her house today in hopes of finding the person behind the mysterious message. "What??" Y/n said, in fact, that was all she could get herself to say.

"I love you; I have for a while now. Daniel had texted me one day saying that he's happy to see me happy with you, and I freaked out. I know that this was no excuse for me ignoring you, and I'm really sorry for that. But I didn't know how else to react," Oscar said, staring down at the ground, refusing to look at Y/n. 

"I've never felt like this; all my life I never felt like the need to be with someone, and so I never bothered with it. But the more time we spent together for the project, the more I realized that I did not want it to end. And so I started to make excuses just so we could spend more time working on the project. But I didn't realize that doing so would make it end sooner," he said. "Lily was just working with me on one of our assignments; I never thought you'd think that I was dating her. I never meant for things to get so complicated between us. I understood your decision to work with my professor, and I'm sorry I went behind your back to work on the project. Please don't get angry with him; he was very hesitant to let me do this in the first place. I just hope that we can still be friends." Oscar finally finished and looked up at Y/n.

Both Y/n and Oscar had taken a seat at one of the chairs kept outside, and for a good five minutes no words were exchanged between the two. Suddenly, Y/n got up and said, "I'm sorry, Oscar, but I have to go," and without waiting for him to reply, Y/n walked out of the cafe.

Leaving a confused and heartbroken Oscar behind.

…

Tags: @regalbanshee | @be-your-coffee-pot | @mrsbrxkkxr | @princessria127 | @moonraysandstars | @prettiest-at-the-party | @theblueblub | @magixpracticality | @slytherinholland | @overlyexcitedoutlaw | @marvel-at-stucky | @crumbssss | @a-beaverhausen | @felicityforyou | @gigigreens | @jas0nluvr | @khaylin27 | @imsiriuslyreal | @cwiphswmwasohmm | @wobblymug | @e-nonsense | @raizelchrysanderoctavius | @brekkers-whore | @vintagefucksstuff | @aexitizen-ln4 | @redstappen | @iamred-iamyellow | @tsireyasgf | @ghost-of-student-sufferings | @saachiep81 | @lozzamez3 | @ravisinghs-wife | @elizamoe133 | @anthonylockwoodandco111 | @formulaal | @luvsforme | @annabellelee | @a-disturbing-self-reflection | @emryb | @grovelingmen | @illicit-affcirs | @iwilleatyourgod | @youre-on-your-ownkid | @originaldreamerdragon | @landorris | @mountvesuvu | @chezmardybum | @littlegrapejuice | @spitesfvl-blog | @juleshadalittlelamb | @vicurious28 | @niyu2208 |

[roseverdict]

hi i can't believe i ran out of tags. might make a specific post at this point lmao.

Let's construct Alan Becker's videos' timeline.

First, a base : AvAnimation I to VI.

But in AvA V, AvPokémon, and AvSMB, the Minecraft Icon is missing from the taskbar. It went missing during AvMinecraft, featuring the charaters of AvA IV.

(Note : Diverging arrows DO NOT indicate a splitting timeline; arrows indicate an ordering, diverging arrows indicate an uncertainty.)

Now, the AvM episodes. Indicated by their number, in green, they will be assumed to be in order. They obviously happened after AvM.

(Note : "~" means that the episodes are directly following one another

But in 19, Blue tries to open the lucky blocks by jumping under it, mimicking what the Marios did in AvSMB ; and at the end of the 20~30 arc, the Minecraft block is put back in the taskbar, meaning that if the block was missing, the event happened in between.

Ho ! And AvLoL happens after they met with purple during 8~14

Now, the problems :

First : AvYoutube. Minecraft is in the taskbar, but we can't know if it happen before AvM or after 30. Both possibilities will be shown in purple.

Second : During the #TeamTrees, Discord replaced the Youtube icon, so it happened after all of that ; and #TeamSeas has references to #TeamTrees.

Finally : Noone has any clue where is Av∑ath.

There. That's the timeline of the classic videos. I'll do the shorts (which some will be helpful) later.

[landograndprix]

「Feel the magic ๛ l.n」

part vii

✧.* you've finally secured your well deserved p1 after months of suffering with red bull and while you celebrate it the right way, love is in the air and everybody sees it now.

✧.* when i think about my muppets i think about this song, should i make like a playlist of songs that remind me of this fic, give y'all the vibes ive been having? 👀 spelling mistakes add character, don't mind them 🥰 this is a psa for the people who wanted to be on my taglist but never got tagged, i didn't forget or ignore you, I simply am unable to tag you and therefore removed you from the list feel free to ask me again so I can take a look at it. Taglist is open Love ya ❤️

✧.* prev part - next part

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y/nusername

liked by landonorris, milouberger and 453,789 others

y/nusername I'd like to thank my parents— p1 baby!🏆

tagged: mclaren

view all 742 comments

y/nloveee yes baaaaabbyyyyy 🤩🤩

norrizz one big fat fuck you to red bull!

adam_norris_pure_electric amazing race, amazing driver!🥇

carlandooo oh my gosh, I'm dead, Adam out here supporting his future daughter in law 😭

norry4 stop it 😭

ricky78 bring it home y/n!

natewhite this girls good, she should try racing in f1..

carlossainz55 well deserved! 🔥

chilisainz wish I had a supportive ex boyfriend 💀

y/nlandooo we're so back with our 1-2!

yourmomsuser super proud of you! 🥰

milouberger back where you belong!

hamilt44n girl, shut up..as if you didn't try to push her off the track halfway..🤨

redbullgirl come back please, perez is a joke 😢

landonorris that's my girlfriend 😍

bott_ass we were aware 😂

landonorris you got any plans tonight? wanna celebrate?

landosmclaren HOWLING ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED

maxfewtrell mega race 🙌

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landonorris posted on their story

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cecilemoulin posted to their story

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y/nusername

liked by landonorris, riabish and 689,872 others

y/nusername ending an amazing weekend with my favorite lil' guy 🧡

tagged: landonorris

view all 878 comments

norrizz honestly such a power couple!!

sharl16 oh they in love love huh?

bott_ass not the after sex selfie 😭

bananaclerc I was looking for this comment 😭

y/nlando y/n's finally showing more of her and lando on here 🥺

mrsnorris 🤮 get someone your own age 🤮

cecilemoulin I just know y'all were late because you've been watching tiktok's in bed all morning..

y/nusername Cecile thirst trap edits go hard

carlandooo y'all think y/n finally realised she likes this man? Seemed pretty one sided to me for a hot minute 😂

ceciley/n I think Cecile said in an interview that THEY aren't used to dating younger dudes and that she felt out of place for the first few weeks..pretty sure she meant herself and y/n 😉

carlandooo CECILE IS DATING SOMEONE?

ceciley/n yeah..max fewtrell? Girl where have you been? 😂

carlandooo under a fucking rock apparently! Wow, these girls really said young, cute and british? Yes ma'am 🥰 so real of them

ceciley/n a couple of besties dating another couple of besties 😂

hamilt44n where are Carlos and Pierre now? You think they gave up? :')

landonorris favourite lil' muppet 🧡

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Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @softboystarkey @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @glow-ish

Feel the magic taglist: @celesteblack08 @mrsmaybank13 @cha-hot @judesgfirl @roseseraj @kissesandmartinis @jpg3 @amulhermaisfelizdomundo @marialovesf1 @silkenthusiasts @luvrrish @laneyspaulding19 @emily-b @formula1bby @judespoisons @buckybarnessweetheart @strawberrychita @iifloweringnightsii @buendiabebeta @jjsprobablywrong @babyvinnie @mishaandthebrits @hockeyboysarehot

Lando taglist: @beatricemiruna @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10

[jackhues]

CLOWNS AND CARS - PADDOCK PASS, BABY [ PART FIVE ]

in which y/n hamilton might've accidently manifested her dad's dnf (australia 24)

[ prev ] | [ next ] | [ notes ] | [ masterlist ]

y/nhamilton

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 & others

y/nhamilton: "what did it cost you (to convince these two to step away from the track)?" "nothing (one of my dad's signed hats)"

tagged: kimi.antonelli, olliebearman

pinned y/nhamilton: guys i know the actual line is 'everything'. stop attacking me, i'm sensitive -> user: i just choked on my water -> y/nhamilton: are you okay? -> user: yeah i'm fine now!

pinned y/nhamilton: @/landonorris see how well MY bracelet would match with that fit -> landonorris: you mean mine? you're never getting it back just accept the fact -> y/nhamilton: never

pinned y/nhamilton: swipe to the end to see a wallaby sniff oliver -> kimi.antonelli: not pictured is oliver screaming very loud and running away -> olliebearman: i'm literally being bullied by two CHILDREN

user: omgg pretty 😍

user: ollie in the third slide is looking up the way y/n normally does when they talk -> y/nhamilton: i'm not short. he's built like a giraffe

user: omgg look at kimi with the koala -> y/nhamilton: that's not a koala. it's a mirror

user: queen hamilton making sure no one featured on her page gets an ego 🤩

logansargeant: invite? -> y/nhamilton: boy you were sleeping -> logansargeant: so THAT'S what all of those calls were for

carlossainz55: 🫎🫎 ->y/nhamilton: 🫏🫏 -> user: i have no idea what this means and i never will, but i look forward to carlos' comment EVERY time y/n posts

doriane_pin: pretty girl 😍 -> y/nhamilton: marry me 💍 -> doriane_pin: 👰👰👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 -> kimi.antonelli: what did i just see? -> y/nhamilton: congrats, you were a witness at our wedding!

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y/nhamilton

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, olliebearman & others

y/nhamilton: last slide is me watching the aus gp if you even care

tagged: lewishamilton, valtteribottas, maxverstappen1

user: I CARE!

user: y/n hamilton back at it with the gp dumps

charles_leclerc: where are the podium pics? -> y/nhamilton: you put that filter on all of the ones you sent. it's not the vibe i'm going for today

logansargeant: are you still depressed about the uno cards? -> y/nhamilton: yes.

carlossainz55: 🏆🏆 -> y/nhamilton:🏅🏅

user: nahh you can't be clowning ferrari. that's your new home -> y/nhamilton: i've got a year

lewishamilton: well... at least i made the photo dump (?) -> y/nhamilton: TWICE

sebastianvettel: since when do you have a cat? -> y/nhamilton: it's a reaction meme seb. i don't have a cat

ausgp: we'll be back next year!!

---

TAGLIST: @67-angelofthelordme-67 , @somepeoplemaybe , @nothaqks , @theforevermorereject , @thatonesblog , @deviltsunoda , @xoscar03 , @mess-is-my-aesthetic , @d3kstar , @bwormie , @ietss , @sapphiccloud , @helaenatargaryensfavoritebug , @urfavsgf , @evie-119 , @raevyng , @khaylin27 , @champomiel <3

send a message/comment/ask to be added to the taglist!

NOTE: fifth part is heree! if you guys want to see something that already happened in prev seasons, send in an ask/comment! i meant to have this out earlier in the week, pretend it takes place before today! don't forget to like + reblog <3

[vampsywrites]

III — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, A LOT of romantic tension

Word Count: 4.5k | AO3 LINK

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

In the early morning light, you took Neteyam to a secluded spot in the village, away from prying eyes. Aside from being Tsahìk, your expertise in climbing with ropes and harnesses was also well-known, and you had taken it upon yourself to teach him the ropes — quite literally.

As you began the lesson, your arms gently guided him, demonstrating the proper way to tie and secure the rope over his waist and thighs. 

"Tuck this into here," you instructed, your voice soothing yet firm. "This must be tight to ensure safety. Watch."

Neteyam looked on, watching intently but his attention was elsewhere. 

Instead of fully absorbing your instructions. his eyes remained fixated on every detail of your unique appearance. From the slope of your flat nose, the curve of your lips, and the thickness of your eyelashes that accentuated your big, milky eyes. Along with this was his strange fascination with your frosty blue skin, ample and adorned with delicate ivory specks.

"Are you listening?" you check.

"Yes," he affirmed but this was far from the truth. 

In Neteyam's defense, he was listening, just not in the way you might have wanted. From the moment you met, you had been a woman of few words — reserved, and enigmatic. However, now, as you took on the role of his karyu, his teacher, Neteyam saw an opportunity to experience a different, more personal side of you. And so, he wanted to etch the sound of your voice into his memory, to savor every word that left your lips. 

Your voice had a lilt that captivated him — calm yet firm, with a low and husky undertone that was enhanced by your distinct Iuva'rian accent. Every now and then, your words would subtly slip, and your village dialect would shine through, adding an intriguing layer of depth to your teaching.

The sound of you clearing your throat snapped him out of his deep thoughts, and the Omatikayan blinked blearily, shaking his head for a few seconds to refocus his attention. Dismissing his momentary distraction, you reached out and handed him the end of the rope.

"Attach the end of the rope to this tree," you instructed, pointing to a massive pine nearby. Neteyam moved to tie a secure anchor around the trunk, ensuring it would hold firm. You then took the other end of the rope and demonstrated how to loop it through his harness, which was fashioned from sturdy leather. To your relief, Neteyam paid proper attention this time and followed your instructions to the best of his ability.

"This harness will distribute your weight. Allowing you to use your hands and legs more freely," you explained, patting the leather. "It is your lifeline."

Stepping back, your eyes ran up and down his body, assessing everything. You noticed how he hadn't secured his harness properly, the rope left uncomfortably loose. With a huff of disapproval, you settled in front of him, your focused gaze fixed on his mistake. Your hands, soft yet purposeful, moved with practiced ease as you adjusted the harness, ensuring it was secure and would hold his weight properly. 

As your fingers brushed against his lower abdomen and thighs, a surge of static energy seemed to pass between you, and a shiver ran up Neteyam's spine from the unexpected sensation. The closeness between you, the shared proximity, made his heart race, and he found himself mesmerized by every move you made.

Tilting your head up, you caught his gaze, and a lopsided frown appeared on your lips. 

"You are looking at me with those eyes again," you chided.

"What eyes?" he murmured, still dazed and lost in his admiration of you.

"You must stop staring at me," you responded with a hint of a snarl, trying to bring his focus back to the lesson.

"Can't I stare at my future mate?" he grinned smugly, tail swinging by his feet languidly.

In response, you hissed and gave him a light slap on the side of his head. "Focus. Your form is bad. Fix it."

With an amused expression, Neteyam firmly gripped the side of the rock wall and adjusted his posture, heart set on impressing you and proving his worth.

"No," you tutted, stepping back to demonstrate the proper posture. You inhaled deeply, showcasing how to engage the core muscles and tighten the abdomen.

"Stronger," you instructed, tapping at your tensed stomach to emphasize the point.

He tried to emulate your actions, sucking in air and adjusting his form, but the task proved more arduous than he anticipated. Frustration flickered across your face, and Neteyam couldn't help but feel a pang of dissatisfaction, his ego taking a hit.

Again, you moved towards him, now pressing your front against his back. As your arms encircled him, a wave of searing heat surged through his body, leaving him breathless. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as your breath brushed against the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. 

Your hands, warm and gentle, traced the contours of his bare, muscled skin as you adjusted his arms and sides. The intimate touch sent his mind into a whirlwind of emotions, and he struggled to focus on anything other than the intoxicating proximity between you.

Finally, once his form was proper, you stepped away to view his posture, still unaware of the effect your touch had on him.

"Good," you hummed with approval. "Keep that form as we climb."

As you prepared him to start ascending, you placed a calming hand atop his chest, noticing how his heart pounded rapidly beneath your touch. Unaware of the true reason for his flustered state, you peered up at him, thinking he might be having second thoughts about the climb.

"You are scared?" you questioned, the slightest hint of concern in your voice.

"'M not scared," his words came out in a mumble as he tried to hide the truth. "Why would I be scared?"

Huffing softly, you made one last adjustment to his form, your hands gently pressing at his hard abdomen and slapping at any awkward limb placement, an effort to help him overcome whatever uncertainties he might be facing. 

"Listen. As you climb, I'll stay below to control the rope. If you slip or lose your grip, I'll hold the rope tight to catch you," your small hands brushed up his jawline, turning his head to face you. "Trust me as I trust you."

"Got it," Neteyam nodded and began his climb. He moved upward, his hands trembling as he gripped the coarse surface of the rock, his fingers struggling to find solid handholds. Each time he tried to place his foot on a protruding edge, it slipped, sending small pebbles cascading down the cliff face. 

He took a moment to assess the rock in front of him, his eyes scanning for the best path upward. After a few deep breaths to steady himself, he made a decision and reached out, testing a small crevice with his fingertips. It seemed secure enough, so he cautiously shifted his weight and pulled himself upward.

"Ngh!" Neteyam grunted, his biceps straining as he lifted himself higher up the rock wall. Despite his efforts, his initial progress was still awkward and uncoordinated. He swung his legs around, searching for footholds, but it seemed like every attempt led to more frustration. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his face burned with both exertion and embarrassment as he struggled to find his rhythm.

He had thought it would be easy, considering how he climbed trees all the time back home, but the mountains presented a whole new challenge. They lacked branches or sturdy trunks to cling onto; instead, they were rough, wide, and open, demanding an entirely different set of skills.

"You are like a baby! You think too much!" you scolded, picking up on his indecision and observing the rigid strain in his back muscles. "Find the holdings in the rock!"

"I am trying," Neteyam replied, voice tinged with frustration. The rough terrain scratched at his skin, his arms strained as he struggled to find the right grip, and the weight of each step felt heavier with every passing moment. "It is not as easy as you say it is!"

"Look for the natural holds, the cracks, and the crevices," you advised, drawing from your own experiences scaling these heights. "Use your instincts, and trust your body. The mountain will guide you."

Neteyam nodded, but his struggles persisted, and it was evident that he was stiff, overthinking each and every step. If he continued on like this, the risk of a fall was high.

"Mawey. Take a moment to rest," you urged firmly. He obliged and halted his movements.

With the climb momentarily paused, Neteyam caught his breath and tilted his head back to take in the breathtaking view before him. The sight punched a gasp out from his chest—the vast fields stretching out like a painted canvas, the lush forests below, carpeting the landscape in vibrant greens, and the riders gracefully soaring on their ikrans high above. 

The soft caress of the gentle breeze kissed his cheeks, carrying along leaves and the scents of flora that adorned the mountain's slopes. As the wind brushed through his hair, Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the peace and tranquility that settled over him. 

"Try again, Neteyam," you shouted up at him. "Let the rock guide you. Slow your pace and take your time; it's not a race."

Taking a deep breath, Neteyam attempted to ease his pace, allowing himself a moment to study the wall of stone before him. He faintly began to recognize the patterns and natural holds, the crevices, and folds that could be used to his advantage.

With newfound focus, he started to move more freely, trusting his instincts and allowing his body to flow with the terrain. His motions became less rigid, and he started to use the momentum of his body to propel himself upward, one confident movement at a time.

"That's it," you encouraged, an impressed smile gracing your face. "You are learning to climb. Let the mountain become an extension of yourself."

As Neteyam climbed higher, he discovered a sense of connection with the ancient stone, almost as if he and it were in sync. The initial clumsiness gave way to a familiarity he hadn't known he possessed. The wind played with his hair, and the distant calls of the mountain banshees echoed through the slopes above. Time seemed to slow as he focused solely on the present moment, the climb becoming an intimate conversation between him and the mountains.

Overlooking the village, you and Neteyam now stood at the high plateau, the world spread out below you like a vast canvas. The mountains had always been your personal sanctuary, a place where you found peace and strength, a respite away from the stress of your responsibilities. So, seeing Neteyam experience this awe-inspiring view for the first time brought a smile to your face.

You moved to sit by him, taking his hands in yours, and carefully tending to the scratches on his arms with a salve you always carried. The soothing ointment provided a gentle touch to his roughened skin, and he looked at you with a mix of gratitude and affection.

"It is rare for someone to pick things up so quickly. You are a very fast learner," you say, breaking the silence to praise him. "You also do not give up easily. You have a strong heart."

"Thank you," Neteyam replied, pride evident in his voice as he preened from your heartfelt compliments, a fanged grin stretching across his cheeks.

He then turned his attention back towards the view, his eyes sparkling with wonder and captivation as he beheld the breathtaking beauty spread out before him. 

"It is like nothing I've ever seen," Neteyam marveled, his voice thick with an accent native to the forests. "Back home the sky is usually hidden by tall trees. You'd have to climb up one if you want a glimpse."

Pausing your ministrations, you leaned toward him. "Tell me more," you urged, genuinely curious. "What is it like in the forest?"

A spark ignited in Neteyam's eyes as he delved into a passionate account of his experiences in his home village. He spoke with animated enthusiasm, painting vivid pictures of the lush greenery that adorned the landscape, each vibrant flora seemingly glowing with its own bioluminescent brilliance. The rivers and cascading waterfalls he described were a source of life, teeming with an abundance of fresh fish. 

With every word, he brought to life the swift direhorses, their graceful forms racing across the terrain, and the fearsome thanators, lean and agile stalking through the night. Mixed in with that joy, there was a longing in his voice, a yearning to experience it once more.

"Do you miss it?" you asked, cutting him off gently, your keen perception sensing the ache in his heart.

"Yes," he sighed wistfully, the weight of nostalgia evident in his chest. "I really do."

You offered a comforting presence, placing a hand over his shoulder in a gesture of solace. The two of you then moved to lay on the soft grass, resting side by side in the embrace of nature. A companionable silence settled between you, hearts connected over the memories of home and the beauty of the world you both cherished.

In the midst of this peaceful moment, a question that had lingered in your mind resurfaced.

"Neteyam?" you called out, turning on your side. His ears flicked in curiosity as he looked towards you, brows raised.

"The banshee you rode a few days ago... Was she yours?" you murmured softly.

"Yes," Neteyam confirmed, a fond smile touching his lips. "Do you want to meet her?"

You nodded eagerly, and he stood up, offering you a hand. You took it, his battle-hardened palm was rough against your skin but his touch had a comforting warmth to it. With a gentle tug, he effortlessly lifted you off the ground, dragging you toward the edge of the peak.

Emitting a powerful cry, Neteyam called for his ikran, the sound echoing through the air. Moments later, the sky came alive with the powerful flapping of wings, and she arrived with a resonating squawk. Her mighty form hovered before you, and you were left breathless by the sight of her robust wings enveloped in the light. 

As she landed gracefully before you, you couldn't help but be in awe of her presence. Her eyes, filled with intelligence and a hint of curiosity, locked onto yours, and it felt as though she could see into your very soul.

Neteyam approached his ikran with a calm and composed demeanor making tsaheylu.

"This is Seze," he introduced you to her. "I have been flying with her ever since I was thirteen."

Your excitement was palpable as you gazed upon the majestic banshee before you. Your hand reached out cautiously, not wanting to startle her, as you gently stroked her strong chest and neck. The sensation of her thick, supple skin beneath your fingers sent a thrill through your entire being.

"She is beautiful," you cooed, tail swishing behind you in joy. 

"Yes. Very beautiful." Neteyam's response was soft, and though he agreed with your sentiment, it was clear that his focus wasn't on Seze. Instead, his gaze was fixed on you, and you could feel the intensity of his stare as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your being. There was something in the way he looked at you, a certain depth of emotion that couldn't be easily put into words.

A warm and shy smile graced your lips as you turned away from Neteyam, now facing back toward the vast expanse of the open sky.

"I too will show you mine," you declared. With a sharp whistle, you called for your ikran to join the encounter. 

In response to your call, your spirit sister appeared in all her glory, gliding gracefully through the air before landing near you with an air of elegance. Beaming, you watched as her wings fluttered in excitement. It had been long since you last met up with her. Your duties as Tsahìk had kept you busy for a long, long while.

"This is Ayvit. She is my spirit sister," you proudly gestured to her. Reaching for your kuru, you gently made tsaheylu, cooing affectionately at your sweet girl.

"It is nice to meet her," Neteyam said warmly as he moved to run a hand up your ikran's snout. Ayvit let out a soft chirp as if acknowledging Neteyam and his banshee, and you couldn't help but smile at the interaction between them.

"I think she likes me," he remarked, observing the gentle way Ayvit tilted her head in his direction.

"Yes, you are very likable," you replied, timidly averting your gaze to the ground.

"I am?" Neteyam grinned, his expression filled with a mix of amusement and charm. It was evident that his confidence had grown during your time together, and that paired with your newfound ease around his presence further deepened your growing relationship.

With a shake of your head, you gently nudged at his head in a playful manner. Then, turning around, you reached into Ayvit's saddle, retrieving a riding visor from the compartment. As you lifted it up, it became evident that this visor was unlike anything Neteyam was accustomed to seeing back home.

Your riding visor had an exotic design, native to your clan. It was rounder and adorned with vibrant colors and shimmering gems, a striking contrast to the simpler styles he was used to. The woven headpiece was crafted in a soft lilac hue, complementing your skin's natural blue tone. 

After slipping off your headpiece that denoted your status as Tsahìk, you placed the visor atop your head, securing it around your ears. The moment seemed to mark a shift, as you felt a sense of liberation wash over you as if you were shedding the formalities to reveal a more unburdened and personal side of yourself to Neteyam.

With practiced ease, you moved towards Ayvit, a rush of anticipation surging through your veins. You climbed onto the saddle, feeling the smooth, cool leather beneath your fingertips. Quickly, you secured yourself, making sure the bindings were tight and fastened well.

"Come," you grinned at Neteyam, tail coiling as a glint of thrill danced in your eyes. "Let's ride!"

With a whoop of exhilaration, you urged Ayvit forward, and with a powerful thrust of her wings, she propelled herself off the mountain peak. Neteyam laughed as he swiftly mounted Seze and joined you in flight. 

As you and Neteyam soared through the vast open skies, the wind tousled at your hair and caressed your cheeks, carrying the scents of the wild. The beating of Ayvit's powerful wings resonated in perfect rhythm with Seze's. 

Peals of laughter slipped from your lips, blending with the rush of air around you. Gazing at Neteyam, you couldn't help but be captivated by the joy etched on his face. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and a radiant, handsome smile adorned his features. 

Together, you explored the breathtaking landscapes from above, the lush forests, the winding rivers, and the towering mountains painted in hues of orange and pink by the setting sun. Ayvit and Seze seemed to revel in the thrill of the flight, each spread of their wings carrying you higher and further, as if they, too, were caught up in the strengthening of your bond.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the hues of warm sunset in the sky washed away, now bathed in the tranquil colors of twilight. With Ayvit and Seze now keeping a steady pace, you and Neteyam glided side by side, enjoying the serene, dreamlike ambiance of the atmosphere.

"We have to return soon," you called out to Neteyam. The warrior looked to you in confusion.

Guiding Ayvit to fly closer to his side, you reminded him, "I promised your brothers and sisters I would teach them how to make a healing salve. They must be waiting."

Neteyam merely hummed in response, his gaze lingering on you with a tender smile. 

"Let them wait," he spoke softly. "I want to spend more time with you."

His words stirred a delightful flutter in your chest, and you couldn't help but feel a smile creep onto your face. With a subtle click of your tongue, you urged Ayvit to turn slightly, now flying a bit farther from him.

Shifting your gaze, you couldn't help but steal secret glances at Neteyam's figure, utterly mesmerized as he skillfully guided Seze through the night sky. 

Eywa... Had he always been this handsome?

His thick, braided hair, the color of dark ink, cascaded down his broad shoulders, catching the moonlight as it whipped through the crisp air. His strong, sharp jaw and cheek exuded a rugged masculinity that contrasted beautifully with the gentleness in his eyes. Those eyes, the color of rich gold and flecked with hues of deep burgundy were windows to a soul that carried the weight of the world. 

Neteyam was both beautiful and mighty.

And he was to be yours.

Late at night, your healing hut exuded a soothing atmosphere, filled with the soft glow of torchlight and the gentle radiance of bioluminescent plants which cast a gentle, ethereal glow that bathed the room in cool colors.

Tuktirey, with her wide, curious eyes, wandered around the room in awe. She was captivated by the sight of the glowing medicinal flora adorning the walls, and her small hands reached out to explore the many trinkets that adorned your hut. With childlike wonder, she immersed herself in the enchanting environment, discovering new wonders at every turn.

Meanwhile, you and the older Sully kids gathered around a table. Guiding them step-by-step, you taught them the art of crafting a simple healing salve, constantly emphasizing its importance for treating mild injuries.

"This is called ngamut," you patiently explained, the unfamiliar dialect causing some confusion among them as they struggled to pronounce the word.

"Gamut?" Neteyam attempted, his accent thick, making an earnest effort to mimic the foreign syllables.

Shaking your head, you repeated it once more, enunciating it more clearly, "Ngamut."

"Agamut?" Neteyam toyed with you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

In response, you huffed and affectionately flicked the side of his head. 

"Ngamuutt," you emphasized, drawing out the word to help him get the pronunciation right.

"Ngamuutt," he repeated, his smile growing wider, knowing he finally got it correct. With a nod of approval, you resumed stirring the paste, your skilled hands expertly mixing the ingredients.

“You two are already acting like a mated couple,” Lo'ak teased, lazily holding his bowl of paste in one hand. The medicine in the bowl, if you could even call it that, was a sad mess of lazily torn leaves and clumsily poured syrup, hardly resembling a proper healing salve.

"Leave them be," Kiri rolled her eyes, taking the monstrosity of a paste away from Lo'ak and attempting to salvage it. "I think it's good that they are getting along well."

"We really do," Neteyam agrees, his expression soft as he peered at you. He holds your stare for a moment before turning to his siblings.

"But I have to tell you—she is a very harsh teacher. It's either her way or die," he grins.

You couldn't help but smirk at his remark. "I told you I wasn't going to baby you," you retorted, playfully flicking a bit of the messy paste towards him.

Neteyam laughed, the sound like music to your ears. "I know, I know," he replied, his grin never fading. "But I have to admit, your teaching methods are effective."

"I am aware," you replied with a smug look before swiftly snapping back into your stern demeanor. "But this flattery will get you nowhere. Come now, let me see your paste."

As you leaned over to inspect the paste Neteyam had made, he unexpectedly turned his face toward you. The sudden movement caused his lips to brush against yours, and you both froze. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Both your eyes met—milky blues locking with golden browns—as you both silently drank in each other's features.

Faintly, you could feel Neteyam's hand brushing gently against your sides, and a shiver ran up your spine from the touch of his calloused fingers against your skin. The connection between you felt electric, a tingling sensation spreading through your body.

The daze was broken as Kiri cleared her throat, interrupting the moment. Both of you snapped out of your trance, but the lingering tension between you and him remained palpable, shimmering just beneath the surface. A touch of bashfulness colored your expressions, cheeks flushed from the shared vulnerability of that brief, intimate encounter. 

Lo'ak's smug expression didn't help, fangs poking out from his lips in a teasing grin. You shot him a half-hearted glare, hoping to deter any further teasing, but it only seemed to fuel him.

"Well," he chimed, "looks like you two had quite the moment there."

"Lo'ak, your paste is going to end up poisoning someone," you snapped, trying to deflect the attention from the romantic moment. "Fix it."

Lo'ak's mouth dropped in shock, an offended expression washing over him as he began to protest. Ignoring his complaints, you quickly regained your composure and shifted your focus back to the lesson at hand.

"Neteyam, your paste is watery," you pointed out. "Add more leaves and stir it slowly to thicken it up."

The warrior nodded, still looking a little flustered as he busied himself with the medication, trying his best to focus and ignore the lingering warmth from the almost kiss. 

Throughout the lesson, glances were exchanged, small smiles were shared, and the air seemed thick with your unspoken feelings. Kiri and Lo'ak could clearly notice the change, sharing knowing looks between themselves. Despite this, they chose to respect the unspoken bond forming between you and Neteyam, allowing you both the space to navigate this new territory.

As the night wore on, you finally deemed them capable enough, and the lesson was complete. The Sullys began to gather their things, expressing gratitude for your teaching and slowly making their way out of the hut. Neteyam, however, stayed back for a moment, his intense stare lingering on you. 

Before he left, he took a step closer, and with a tender touch, ran a hand up your cheek, his rough fingers gentle against your skin. The touch of him against you sent a pulse of warmth through your body, and you leaned into the warrior's touch, savoring the tender moment. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, syulang," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of affection and anticipation.

"Tomorrow," you replied softly, caressing the back of his hand, feeling the steady beat of his heart pulsating through his veins.

As the Sully kids bid their final farewells and left your hut, you pressed your back against the woven door, trying to steady your racing heart. The soft glow of torchlight and bioluminescent plants bathed the room, mirroring the gentle pink glow that now enveloped your very being.

"I see him," you draw in a sharp breath, a hand clasping over your chest.

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

some romance is finally blooming ! it would be so bad if something happened to our couple, huh? also guys, i can't thank you enough for the comments! there are a lot of them from both my ao3 and tumblr so i get overwhelmed and don't know what to reply but just know that i appreciate it all so much! xoxoxo

TAGLIST: @rainbowsockmonkeys @milktealvrr @strawberri-blonde @dark-mark @v4mp1rr3 @xylianasblog @piceous21 @celi-xxmoon @corpsebridenightamare @ducks118 @ok-boke @bluealiensimp @tyongluvs @theyoungeagle @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @nerdfacesposts @isnt-itstrange @smile-skxawng @eywas-heir @mochiivqi @wavesarchive @aurora-starwars @simpforramenboy@crazy4books1 @jamie-poopoo

If you can't see your blog, that means I could tag you! :(

[gremlin-girly]

Kinktober Day 12

Kink: Competence Pairing: Yelena Belova x f!reader Tags/Warnings:  SMUT, competence kink, established relationship, Yelena (she’s a warning), vaginal fingering, light teasing/taunting, pet names (darling, honey), sexual frustration/orgasm denial Word Count: 1.2k

Not beta'd

Summary: Your very attractive super spy girlfriend distracts you whilst you wait for your taxi.

As always I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated or copied. My warnings are non-exhaustive (even though I do try to capture everything) but please read at your own risk. I am not responsible for your content consumption.

I hope you enjoy; comments, likes and reblogs are always welcome!

A/N: Am I late? Very. Will I be posting literally 15+ fics in two days even if it kills me? Yes. - Love, Grem x

Prev | Next | Masterlist

You knew your girlfriend was a spy and a good one at that. And a good hit woman. And assassin. Lover. The list went on and on. However, it was one thing knowing it and another thing to see it.

Yelena Belova walked behind enemy lines without batting an eye lid. You watched in awe as she flipped not one, not two, but three guards like they weighed nothing before swiftly shooting them between the eyes without breaking her stride. She was a terrifying force of nature; beautifully dangerous in every way, both good and bad.

You replayed the clip again on your phone. Your eyes are still wide as you watch but you’re breathing quicker. Yelena on the phone is all in black, the glimmer of her chain necklace barely visible. Her hair is slightly tousled as if she’s just taken one of her cat naps instead of swatting minions like it's nothing.  

You press your thighs together, heat throbbing between them. You lock your phone with a heavy sigh, rubbing your hands over your flushed face, trying to scrub the memory of your girlfriend from your mind’s eye.

Now was the worst possible time  to be horny. You were supposed to be going out on a date. You couldn’t postpone it again.

“Hey.”

You startle when Yelena pokes her head from the bathroom, dropping your phone. She smirks at you opening the door further so you can see her outfit; a tee and jeans with her leather jacket and the signature silver chain necklace. It's simple but by God does it work - especially with the heavy liner she wears so well. She leans against the door frame, arms folded and looking smug as she catches your red face scowling up at her when you pick up the phone.

“Watching something you shouldn’t be, darling?” Yelena’s accented taunt only flusters you more.

“No.” You snap, straightening quickly. You clutch your phone to your chest with an iron grip. And of course Yelena notices. Her eyebrow quirks.

“No lies.” She says as she begins to walk towards you. “Show me.”

She holds out her hand, palm up, for your phone the other resting on her hip. You look at her palm and then her face. Moments ago you’d watched her kill mercilessly and those same hands were in front of you. It only added to wanting to slip to your knees before her but this was your little secret. You turn from her, hunkering your shoulders over your phone.

“No way,” you murmur, embarrassed. You don’t know how she’ll react. Yelena looks baffled for a moment and then recovers, frowning.

“Show me.” She says more firmly, still holding out her palm as she gets into your personal bubble. You can smell the soft ylang ylang soap on her skin and it makes you want to lean closer, but the shame and guilt of being caught is too strong. You shake your head feebly and Yelena only grins in response. You recognise that grin, that look in her eyes as she holds up her hands and moves to back away. You know what's about to happen but you’re too weak and slow to stop it.

Yelena side-steps and encircles your waist grabbing your phone-gripping hand, snatching your phone away with ease. She unlocks your phone with one hand as you wriggle against her, trying to take your phone back desperately as she presses play on the video.

Once it starts playing you go still, face reddening. This is single-handedly the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you and you know Yelena is enjoying every moment.

"Why are you watching this video of me?" She questions, her grip on your waist tightening. "And why are you embarrassed to be caught?"

"It's..." You pause and know you can't lie to her again. "It's hot. That's why."

Yelena smirks, pressing her lips to your neck to make you shiver. "Really?" She presses. "You like this?"

She holds the phone directly in your face so that you can't look away. Her teasing tone makes your pulse quicken and you squirm in her grip.

"Yeah." You admit breathily but this time when her lips meet the skin of your neck she nibbles it gently, making you gasp. "Yelena! Our date."

"Hmm?" She looks up at you through her eyelashes. " Oh, that."

"I don't want to postpone it again, baby." You urge despite the heat pooled between your legs. "We keep saying we'll go out and then we end up-"

"Fucking?" Yelena adds helpfully, giving you a smirk.

"- In bed." You finish, trying your best to glare at her but you know she's not deterred in the slightest. "The taxi'll be here in ten minutes anyway."

Yelena raises an eyebrow at you, a hand moving lower down your waist. "I could make you cum in five."

"Lena," You warn, or at least try to; when her fingers tickle the your thighs at the hem of your dress, you stifle a moan. You don't need to look at her to know how smug she looks. Her fingers slip under your dress, teasingly running over your clit in slow deliberate circles just the way you like.

"Try and tell me to stop," She urges tauntingly. "I can feel how wet you are for me already."

You bit down so hard on your lip you think you'll draw blood. It takes all of your resolution and then some to stammer out a choked response.

"S-stop we have to go on our - oh." Before you can even finish your sentence as requested, Yelena slips a flinger under your panties and runs it over your wet slit before sinking it into you, and then moving back to your bare clit. The lack of a barrier turns your legs to jelly, and you grip her arms for support, making Yelena chuckle.

"Feel good, honey?" She purrs into your ear, her fingers teasing your clit and hole so expertly your already beginning to see stars. "I know your body so well. I know you're going to cum for me in your pretty dress."

You gasp a moan, your hips rolling backwards into her. "Yes - feels so good Lena."

"Are you going to cum for me?" She whispers, rubbing your clit and watching the look on your face intently. She knew exactly how you'd look when you cum. She'd made you cum so many times she knew all of your signs; from your face all the way to your cunt.

"Yes! Oh my God - Lena -"

Yelena removes her hand away from your soaked pussy immediately, making you moan out and whine her name. She smirks, holding her glistening fingers in front of her face and keeps eye contact with you as she licks them clean.

"I said could make you cum in five minutes," She points out, kissing your cheek. "I didn't say would."

You huff, fixing her with a frown but she only chuckles.

"Come on," She says taking your hand gently and leading you to the door. "We have a date. You can cum for me later."

Your legs wobble slightly but you follow behind her, scowling at her all the way to the taxi. You were going to get your own back

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

playing match-maker with professor!gojo satoru [prev]

Dr. Gojo Satoru added Prof. Shoko Ieiri to Cupids <3

Dr. Gojo Satoru: Sho where are you taking your lunch today? You: Eat with us in Gojo’s lab!

Prof . Getou Suguru emphasized your message

Prof. Shoko Ieiri: …why? Dr. Gojo Satoru: colleague bonding time! Prof. Shoko Ieiri: what’s the catch? You: Why does there have to be a catch T-T Prof. Getou Suguru: Join us, and we’ll accompany you to that meditation class taught by the cute brunette you’ve been drooling over.

Dr. Gojo Satoru laughed at a message

Prof. Shoko Ieiri: yeah alright

Shoko appears in the doorway of Gojo’s lab shortly after agreeing to join. Her white lab coat flutters as she strides in, a fitted blue shirt tucked into black pin-striped slacks. She plops her brown bag onto the table beside you, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder, and extracts a sandwich and an apple.

Across from you, Gojo sits perched at his desk, leaning back with his legs crossed atop the surface. His usual smug determination is evident, highlighted by his untouched strawberry cheesecake yogurt. His white turtleneck peeks above the collar of his lab coat, accentuating the icy hue of his hair and brows.

Unfortunately, spending so much time with Gojo means you are beginning to mirror him in subtle (and sometimes regrettable) ways. Today’s shared wavelength is your matching outfits—both of you in white turtlenecks and brown straight-leg slacks. Though, judging by the label on his, the price tags aren’t even close.

Getou, seated on a stool to your other side, shakes his salad container, the silver hem of his cardigan shimmering under the fluorescent light. A stray strand of hair falls across his face, and he tucks it behind his ear before turning to Shoko, who silently munches on her sandwich.

“So,” Getou begins, smirking, “we’re just going to ignore how quickly the promise of getting near your little hippie crush convinced you?”

Gojo snickers and Shoko shoots Getou a glare.

“She’s not a hippie,” Shoko retorts, wiping her mouth. “Meditation is a holistic approach with spiritual and health benefits. What do you guys even want from me? Gojo, you don’t eat lunch on campus—ever. The café staff down the road probably know you better than your students.”

You chime in. “Important business, Shoko. Gojo and I are working on a project requiring the intellectual brilliance of like-minded individuals.”

Getou nods solemnly. Shoko laughs.

“Thank god you entertain him,” she says. “Back when my pre-med lab was next to his, he wouldn’t stop dragging me into his ridiculous schemes. You’ve saved me countless headaches.”

Gojo grabs a stress ball from his desk and lobs it at her. Shoko deflects it with her elbow, the ball bouncing to the floor.

“You’re so mean,” Gojo pouts. “Anyway, you’re here to confirm my theory that first-years Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara are the ideal match.”

Shoko groans. “Of course I am. Let me guess—you two,” she points at you and Getou, “think Itadori and Fushiguro Megumi are a better match.”

You nod eagerly.

“Well,” she sighs, leaning back, “considering Gojo’s total lack of social awareness, I’d normally side with you two. But…Gojo, are you positive that you can concretely back your theory?”

Gojo stands, pacing dramatically. “Is an atom that’s lost its electron considered positive?”

“I think you’re saying yes?” you guess.

“Exactly!” Gojo snaps his fingers, grinning triumphantly.

Shoko, ever the pragmatist, pulls out her phone. “Fine. This semester, I’m teaching those three in Health & Wellness. Let me show you something.”

She scrolls through her phone and finally finds a video. “Yuji and Nobara worked together on a group project. Watch this.”

00:03 =⬤--------------------------- 01:17 

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻ 

[The video begins, revealing Yuji and Nobara squeezed together in the frame, their smiles radiant. Nobara playfully elbows Yuji, whose eyes widen in mock shock before he starts speaking.]

Yuji: “Hello, Sensei! Nobara and I finished the group assignment together and decided to try something totally out of our comfort zone. Actually, it’s something we’ve joked about before because it sounded ridiculous.”

[He stifles a laugh, running a hand through his pink hair, the short strands standing on end.]

Yuji: “We went to a local teaching farm and did… goat yoga. We’ve seen the posters on campus forever, so we thought, why not? It was a blast! The goats were fun, and hanging out with Nobara was great too!”

Nobara: “Yeah! Honestly, I was kind of nervous at first. It’s not easy convincing a goat to climb on your back during yoga poses. But once they did, their little hooves felt like a mini massage. Here—look!”

[She lifts a photo into the frame, holding it close to the camera. The image comes into focus: Yuji in a shaky downward dog pose on a yoga mat, Nobara beside him coaxing a tiny goat onto his back with a piece of hay. Nobara bursts out laughing and shakes the photo.] 

Nobara: “Haha! Right after this, the goat climbed off Yuji and—get this—it started peeing. Like, it barely missed his pants! He’s so lucky he didn’t get soaked.”

[Yuji yelps, shoving her shoulder while Nobara doubles over, her laughter echoing. Grinning through his embarrassment, Yuji snatches the camera, bringing it close to his face.]

Yuji: “Okay, Sensei, I’m cutting this off. Nobara’s having way too much fun at my expense. But yeah, aside from that one… incident, it was really fun. I’d totally do it again!”

[His hand covers the lens, and the screen fades to black.] 

01:17 =================⬤ 01:17

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

Shoko lowers her phone, pressing it to her lips as if lost in thought.

“Sorry, you two. After watching that again, I’m siding with Gojo on this. Look at them—they’re glowing. If someone made me laugh and smile like that, I’d be completely done for.”

Getou scoffs, muttering something about how that explains why Shoko’s “so giggly after meditation.”

You shush him, trying to keep things light.

“Alright, that makes it 2-3. But you know who else teaches those three? Professor Haibara. We have to ask him.”

Before long, Haibara Yu strolls into Gojo’s lab, looking as disheveled as ever. His charcoal slacks are slightly wrinkled, his pale pink shirt untucked, and his silver glasses sit crooked on his nose.

“You called—Oh! Everyone’s here! Hi!” he exclaims, spreading his arms wide in greeting.

Getou, ever efficient, disposes of his salad container and slings an arm over Haibara’s shoulder.

“Hey, Yu. Quick question: as their professor, do you think Yuji and Megumi would make a good match?”

Haibara blinks, caught off guard. “As in… romantically?”

When Getou nods, Haibara rubs the back of his neck, thinking.

“Well, they’re in my History of the Samurai class, and let me tell you, they’re my most enthusiastic students. On the first day, I asked what everyone already knew about samurai. Yuji and Megumi practically bolted to the board and started writing a list of skills they’ve practiced together.”

He grabs a marker and writes neatly on the whiteboard:

Samurai Fighting Basics – Megumi & Yuji

• Iaido: Drawing & Sheathing Iaitō • Kenjutsu: Bokken Stances & Striking • Kendo: Shinai Quick Attacks

“They even demonstrated some techniques right there in class,” Haibara says with a grin, his thick bangs falling into his eyes. “It’s obvious they’re close and share so many interests. Honestly, I ship it!”

The room erupts into chaos as everyone starts debating further. The argument rages on until Gojo’s next class begins trickling in, scattering the group with reluctant promises to continue later.

During your own lesson, as your students take turns popcorn-reading poetry, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Dr. Gojo Satoru: Hey, I just remembered. We’re facilitating that student union meeting today. We can totally ask the upperclassmen for their opinions!

You sigh, typing back a quick response.

You: Fine. Get back to teaching, Gojo.

When you woke up this morning, you definitely didn’t expect to be holed up in an empty classroom, grilling the Student Union’s elite members one by one about your matchmaking drama. Yet here you are, derailing their bi-weekly brainstorming session for fund allocation. To justify your antics, you and Gojo promised them unwavering financial support—if they gave you honest answers.

First up is Vice-President Okkotsu Yuta, his usual warm demeanor making him an ideal candidate for candid feedback. Sitting across from him, you can’t help but notice how he smiles sheepishly, like he’s trying to soften whatever he’s about to say.

“This probably won’t help much,” Yuta begins, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’m ninety percent sure Maki likes Nobara. I mean, I can really see it, so I propose… NobaMaki.”

You and Gojo exchange a look, equally unimpressed. Without a word, you call in the next person.

Secretary Inumaki Toge is next. Sassy and loyal, he takes his seat across from you with a raised brow, clearly amused by the situation. After you explain the debate, he listens intently before lifting his hands to sign his response.

“I don’t know about Megumi and Yuji,” Toge signs carefully, his fingers precise, “but if you’re suggesting Nobara and Maki, I’ve got news: I’ve heard Maki and Yuta are actually a thing.”

You freeze mid-follow-up, fumbling for the signs to convey “suggest” and “imply.” Gojo swoops in, translating seamlessly. Of course, he’s fluent—he picked up sign language quickly after the two of you agreed to learn for Toge’s sake.

“Well,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. “That cleared up absolutely nothing.”

Finally, you summon President Zenin Maki. Confident and direct, she strides in with her arms crossed, rectangular glasses reflecting the fluorescent lights. Her thick lashes peek over the frames as she narrows her eyes at you.

“What now?” she snaps, cutting right to the chase. “Me and Yuta? Seriously? Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but since we’re dragging Yuta into this—Toge likes him. So there’s that.”

Maki turns on her heel and marches out, her ponytail swishing with every sharp step.

Gojo groans dramatically and leans his head on your shoulder, the soft tips of his snowy-white hair brushing your cheek.

“This is just getting more ridiculous,” he says, voice muffled against your arm. “Everyone’s in love with someone else. What the fuck?”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Careful not to disturb Gojo, who’s still sulking on your shoulder, you retrieve it.

Prof. Nanami Kento Can you return my projector tomorrow morning? I need it for my lesson. Thank you kindly. Also, I hear you and Gojo are still sniffing around where you don’t belong. Just a word of advice: being messy usually leads to more mess. Good luck cleaning it all up.

You sigh, sliding your phone back into your pocket. Nanami’s right, of course. But does that mean you’ll stop? Absolutely not.

insp by @r4yz-4u's comment !

[huxhsz]

— weightless paradise

transmigrated non-mc!reader x caleb

prev ch: 24 - graduation┆series masterlist ┆next ch: 26 - departure

This isn’t how the game was supposed to go. You're not supposed to be here. You're an anomaly. But if you’re already here, then… can’t you just enjoy it for now? Just for a little while? Before the main story begins? Before everything inevitably falls into place? ...Right?

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

CH. 025 — NECKLACE

SEVEN YEARS BEFORE THE MAIN STORY

Packing feels too final.

Your room at Gran's house is already half-empty. Clothes folded into neat piles. Books stacked in boxes by the door. The drawers of your desk sit ajar, hollowed out. The bed is stripped bare except for the familiar weight of your jacket at the foot of it. The fact that the three of you will all be going separate ways for college after spending all your lives in this world together hasn't quite sank in yet.

You sit cross-legged on the floor, sorting through the last of your things, when Eden wanders in. She flops onto the bed without asking, legs hanging off the edge.

“You done yet?” she asks.

“Almost.”

Caleb’s sitting nearby, leaning against the doorframe. His arms are crossed over his chest, expression calm as he watches you. The light from the window catches in his dark brown hair, turning it warm at the edges. His purple eyes are steady, following your movements without saying anything.

You pretend not to notice.

Eden yawns. “We should get food after this.”

“You always want food,” you say.

“You’re leaving soon,” Eden points out. “Might as well make it a big deal.”

“…I guess.”

Caleb’s gaze sharpens slightly.

You try not to think about it too hard. About how this might be one of the last times you’re all together like this. About how he’s going to Skyhaven, and Eden’s staying in Linkon City, and you—

“Hey,” Eden says suddenly, sitting up. “We should get Caleb something.”

You blink. “What?”

“For the trip,” Eden says. “You know. Like a good luck charm or whatever.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “I don’t need a good luck charm.”

“You say that now.” Eden leans toward you, eyes bright. “C’mon, [Name]. You should pick something out for him.”

Your stomach twists.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. In the original story, Eden gives him a necklace before he leaves. You remember it vividly—silver chain, a small apple charm, and a simple inscription on the dog tag attached to it: When U Come Back.

It’s a pivotal moment. A sign of affection. A foreshadowing of deeper feelings.

But Eden’s not saying anything.

And now they’re both looking at you.

“I don’t know,” you say slowly. “Wouldn’t that be… weird?”

“Nah.” Eden smirks. “It’s Caleb.”

Caleb tilts his head slightly, gaze soft. He doesn’t look confused. He looks… patient.

“Sure,” you say after a moment. “Okay.”

“Great,” Eden says, hopping off the bed. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

The jewelry shop is small and warm, tucked into a corner of Bloomshore’s shopping district. You trail after Eden through the narrow aisles, your gaze sliding over the glass cases of rings and bracelets and polished pendants. The shopkeeper smiles at you from behind the counter.

“You sure about this?” you ask.

“You already said yes,” Eden reminds you.

“I didn’t mean it.”

Eden grins. “Too late.”

She pulls you toward a display case lined with necklaces. Gold and silver chains, delicate pendants shaped like stars and moons. Your gaze slides over them, heart thudding uncomfortably in your chest.

It’s not supposed to be you.

But Eden’s not doing anything.

You hesitate. Then your gaze catches on a small silver pendant shaped like an apple.

Your breath stutters.

It’s the same one.

Almost identical to the one from the game. The only difference is the dog tag attached to it—currently blank. Waiting to be inscribed.

“Hey,” Eden says. “That’s kinda cute.”

You swallow hard. “Yeah.”

Eden grins. “You should get it.”

It’s not supposed to be me.

But you pick it up anyway. The apple charm is small, the silver polished and cold against your skin. It glints in the light when you turn it over in your palm.

The shopkeeper approaches with a warm smile. “Would you like to add an inscription?”

You freeze.

When U Come Back.

That’s what Eden chose. In the game. A quiet promise for Caleb to return safely.

Your throat tightens.

“…Yes,” you say softly.

“What would you like it to say?”

You hesitate. The chain slides through your fingers, catching on the edge of your palm. Caleb’s face flashes behind your eyes—steady and calm and always there.

You think about the lab. The cold, sterile air. The feeling of his hand wrapped around yours when you were both too young to understand what it meant to survive. The sound of his voice cutting through the haze when you couldn’t tell if you were awake or dreaming.

What did he say to you?

You remember it—half-awake, barely breathing, and the warmth of his hand brushing over your hair.

"I'm here."

“…Inscribe it with ‘I’m here,’” you say.

The shopkeeper nods, jotting it down.

Eden raises an eyebrow. “Interesting choice.”

You don’t explain.

The shopkeeper returns a few minutes later with the finished piece. The words are engraved into the metal of the dog tag, clean and simple. I’m here.

You curl your fingers around the chain.

The day before Caleb leaves, you find him sitting on the back steps of the house. He’s wearing his flying jacket, the collar pushed up around his neck. His purple eyes are turned toward the sky, the sun catching in the dark strands of his hair.

You sit down beside him. The chain in your pocket feels heavier than it should.

Caleb’s gaze flicks toward you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You hesitate. Then you pull the necklace from your pocket.

“I got you something,” you say.

Caleb’s brows lift slightly. He watches as you set the necklace in his palm.

His thumb brushes over the apple charm. Slowly, he turns it over, reading the inscription on the dog tag.

“…‘I’m here,’” he repeats, voice quiet.

Your heart is thudding painfully.

Caleb smiles, small and private. He lifts the necklace, letting it dangle from his fingers. Then he looks at you.

“Put it on me?”

You freeze. “What?”

Caleb’s smile curves into something warm. “I don’t have hands.”

“…You literally do.”

“I don’t,” he says, completely serious. “In fact, I’m a snake.”

You give him a flat look. “Shut up.”

Caleb grins, leaning slightly toward you. “C’mon,” he says, voice low and coaxing. “You bought it for me, didn’t you?”

“Against my better judgment.”

“Then put it on me.”

You sigh heavily, but your hands are already moving. You slip behind him, brushing his hair away from the back of his neck. The nape of his skin is warm beneath your fingertips.

The clasp clicks shut. The apple charm rests neatly against his collarbone. Caleb’s smile softens. He tilts his head, letting his gaze slide toward you.

“You’re gonna miss me,” he says.

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter.

You don't deny it.

[tigerf00d]

Words Inside a Shell

Chapter 3: The Tide Always Moves Fast

Pairing: Spike x Reader

Other Characters: Buffy and Willow, Xander (mentioned), minor original characters

Tags: EXPLICIT! Smut ahead! You are responsible for your own consumption of media, but please don't interact if you're under 18. No use of Y/N. Afab but gender-neutral.

Word Count: 4.3k . I don't. I don't know what possessed me.

<- Prev Next ->

Series masterlist

Summary: While trying to get over a crush on a certain crispy-haired vampire, you end up falling right back into his arms

Or, the one where a night out with the girls goes wrong.

A/N: So What if I said I split up the last chapter and the first 1k(ish) of this one so it wasn't a monster chapter. It's not my fault the spirit of the holidays possessed me, and now we have 4k of smut. Happy Holidays, ya filthy animals.

You sighed, turning to Spike and hanging your head slightly.

“Well, that was a bust.”

“Hoping to go home with him, were you?”

You looked up at Spike before answering in a small voice. “Not really.”

Not for the first time tonight, Spike’s gaze was intense. His bright eyes observed you, focusing on your expression as you did the same in turn.

Unlike earlier, him checking you out didn’t feel quite so cold. Where before you felt like you were stalked prey, you now felt relief at the familiarity of him watching over you.

Spike squinted and then nodded towards the toilets, breaking the spell the two of you were under.

“Yeah, you’re a mess, love. Better go get cleaned up.”

“Thanks, Spike.” you said sarcastically but began walking through the throng of other dancers regardless.

You stopped before entering. “Oh, I need to tell Buffy and Willow—”

“Go. I’ll alert the neighbourhood watch.”

“Thanks, Spike.” You answered, this time sincerely, smiling from the doorway as he fake gagged and turned away to tell the girls.

You ran the tap, splashing cool water on your face. Thankfully, even though it was to cut costs, the Bronze had two gender-neutral toilets, both their rooms and only slightly larger than the regular stalls in the women’s and men’s bathrooms.

You grabbed paper towels from above the thick counters— probably only there so that drunk patrons couldn’t rip the sink out of the wall— grimacing at their gritty fibrous surface, muttering “In for a penny, in for a pound…” and then patting against the wetter spots of skin.

Your reflection looked much calmer now, not necessarily neater, but you felt better either way. Two sharp knocks echoed across the small room.

“Um, occupied?”

“‘S me.” Spike said against the door.

You straighten your posture and crack open the door, wincing as it creaks.

“Did you tell them?”

“Yeah, they wanted to come see you but…” He shrugged, petering off.

“Y’know for all that talk of being an evil vampire you sure are helpful.”

“Take that back.” He said, evidently flustered.

“No I don’t think I will. Thanks for helping me with that jerk, by the way.”

“It’s no problem. I can eat him too, if you’d like.”

“I had considered it.”

He smiled at you and for a moment you forgot to breathe, the smile was small but earnest, an expression that he rarely had after years of guarding his intentions.

You unfroze, remembering yourself and smiled back, no doubt he had caught the moment of unintentional hesitation, but if he had he didn’t mention it.

“So, why are you here?”

“Oh, you know, T.V. stations went to sleep, only the shopping channel’s on this time of night. Or my favourite: static.”

“Enlightening. Now, why are you really here?”

He raised a brow at your repeated question, “I was bored. There’s barely anything to do in Sunnydale. Or anyone for that matter.”

You roll your eyes, and the thought, ‘don’t remind me,’ floats behind your eyes, but you don’t get the chance to voice it when Spike continues,

“And it’s a good thing I did too. That guy was too handsy.”

You hummed in agreement. “Yes. How could I ever repay you?”

“I can think of a couple of ways.” the vamp joked. You hummed, agreeing as you quietly made a decision.

You sank to your knees, not breaking eye contact when your knees landed on the cool tile of the stall's floor.

“Oh, no, love. You don't have to do that.”

“What? I can't thank my knight in shining leather?”

“Well, when you put it that way. Far be it from me to refuse your gratitude.” He brushed the hair off of your face, and you grasped the material of his pants near his hips, hands warmed by his duster.

“Unless you don’t want me to.” You clarified.

“I never said that.” He responded quickly.

“So, to be clear, you do want me to suck you off in this bathroom right now?”

He groaned, nodding as he widened his stance for you to better slot against him and said, “Of course I do.”

You leaned against him, your legs straddling one of his own as you rested your head against his groin, tent growing from his clothed member beginning to strain against the fabric, and peered up at him.

“Do you promise?” You asked, teasing him now.

“Yes, love, I promise.”

“It’s good to check.”

“Sure.” He mumbled absent-mindedly while fumbling with his belt buckle.

You took pity on him, nudging his hands out of the way and then undoing the button and zipper of his jeans while you were at it. Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his pants and the elastic of his briefs on either side of his hips and you gradually pull them halfway down his thighs, releasing him from the confines of his clothes.

Spike lets out a faint unbidden sigh of relief as his hard cock springs free, so quiet you're not certain he's even aware he made it.

You run your hands back up his thighs, fingertips lingering under his shirt, feeling the Adonis lines for yourself and emitting a soft, excited noise, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as your breath quickens.

He was long, slightly curved, and not skinny. The head was only slightly paler than you had expected, though in consideration of his supernatural nature, it wasn't anything that couldn't be explained.

From Spike's perspective, he watched as you placed a kiss to where his torso met his thigh. Heard your heart beat faster, blood rushing in excitement as you become more aroused. More aroused because you wanted to blow him, even in this dingy stall.

Your warm, soft hand gently gripped the base of him, tilting him slightly to give an open-mouthed kiss to the shaft. Even as you shifted away, he could feel your warm breath against his skin, only making him all the more desperate for you.

Fortunately for Spike, you weren't the most patient either. You briefly removed your hand and spat into your palm, returning it to his dick almost immediately after. You held him more firmly and began to stroke him. Pumping the wetness over him with your fist.

You sat back, letting out an almost silent gasp as you felt the hard material of his boot make contact through your clothes and Spike's lips parted as he fought the urge to buck into your hand at this reaction.

It was then that he felt your warm tongue swipe over the head of his cock, swirling around it a few times to get used to the taste of him. Without realising he had closed his eyes, Spike opened them and looked down to find you looking up at him, bright, eager, eyes shining as you licked up the length of him.

“Is this all you wanted? Someone's cock in your mouth, hm?” His voice cracked as you sucked the tip of him into your mouth and hummed an affirmative to his question before releasing with a salacious ‘pop’.

“Not just anyone.”

“Is that so?”

You hummed around him again, not removing him from your plush lips as you sucked him further into your mouth, already wanting to take more of him in. The vibrations sent a shock wave of pleasure through Spike’s whole body, and he was practically salivating, watching you try to stimulate yourself as a result of his shuddered reaction.

“Go on, pet. Y’ can hump my boot if you'd like.”

You whined around him, body gyrating as you manoeuvred your legs to do so less awkwardly.

What you couldn't reach with your mouth, you continued to stroke with your hands, twisting around him in time with the motions of your tongue.

Spike hadn't expected your eagerness, hand reaching out to comb through the hairs on the side of your head, clutching you tightly. He also didn't expect you to moan because of that, and in a moment of weakness fucked into your mouth a fraction more, the sensation overwhelming him and causing his head to tip back as the vibrations from the moan you released in his hold washed over his senses.

But then you pulled back, tongue flat against the slit as you sucked at the same time as you twisted your fist at the base of him, the side of your palm brushing against surprisingly soft stubble that let you know that he wasn't, in fact, naturally hairless.

He whined at the feeling of it; thick, hot pleasure coiled throughout him, building at the base of his spine. Stopping himself from pushing you any further proved to be a herculean effort, though Spike had never been very good at holding himself back.

You ground your sensitive clit against the leather of his boot rhythmically, sloppier now as you got closer to finishing. Spike was making the most delicious half-rocking aborted motions like he wanted nothing more than to let go but was doing his absolute best to restrain himself for you.

Moments later, he felt your mouth slip off of him, replaced by the mind-numbingly languid strokes of both your hands against him and when he opened his mouth to ask if you needed to stop, his thoughts scattered, words dissipating into nothingness at the feeling of your warm breath against him as you spoke.

“Spike, you don't have to hold back with me.”

He exhaled sharply. Blinking as he fought to form a coherent sentence, Spike's normally quick wit had turned into a blank nothingness for him to draw from.

Finally, he settled on “Are you sure?”

“I've always wanted to try it.” You ran a thumb over the very tip of him, causing him to shudder and blink rapidly as he tried to keep his composure.

“You've never done it, but you…” Spike groaned, grabbing your chin and swiping his own thumb over your slick lips, “Fuck me, pet. It's really what you want.”

“Please, Spike? Use me.”

“How can I deny such pretty words?”

At that, he grasped each side of your head, hair bunching around his fingers as you guided his dick back into your mouth excitedly.

How were you so good at this? You had to have been designed in a lab. You were turning him on so effortlessly. Not the weirdest way he's gotten a lay.

He cursed, abdominal muscles tightening in anticipation as you took him deeper now. Your hands removed from his shaft to hold his hips again for stability.

Slowly, he tested your limits, pushing himself further into you, stalling when you released a happy moan from your full mouth.

“You're really letting me do this?” He asked once more.

You hummed agreeably along Spike’s cock, himself moaning because of it.

Without meaning to, you had stalled your motions, reminded when your neglected clit once again made contact with the material of his shoe, and you whined, bearing down to grind against it and build yourself back up again, nearing your peak much quicker this time.

As though you had switched roles, words came much easier to Spike now.

“Fuck, look at you like that, pet. So eager.”

Your rocking against him, desperate to hit the perfect spot over and over and over again, only served to turn him on more. Your search for friction proved that you were getting turned on by servicing him.

When he rolled his hips forward again, less experimentally than the last time, Spike could feel your throat relaxing. Inviting him in deeper.

A low, enraptured groan escaped Spike as he relinquished control over his other senses, allowing the feeling of you together engulf him.

Your nails dug into the bare flesh of his hips, letting him know he could sink into you further, encouraging him to do so.

Spike hissed in pleasure as he rutted into your mouth.

“You're good like this. Not giving me attitude.”

You glanced up at him as though to say that it was rude to talk with your mouth full, but the effect was lost when he took in the thin mist of sweat settling on your skin and the glassy quality taking over your eyes.

Instead, you suck harshly in retaliation, tightening your throat suddenly to overwhelm him before relaxing again to allow him to continue to fuck into your waiting mouth.

The groan torn out of him borders on feral, hands moving to better push you down onto his cock. Your eyes water, your nose almost brushing the stubble you felt earlier, and Spike holds you there. Holds you so far onto himself you worry you're going to gag any moment as he pants above you. So far that you don't even realise that you’re still grinding slowly against him.

After what feels like forever, he releases you and allows you a moment to breathe before rhythmically pulling you down onto him again.

“‘M close, precious. You?”

You blink, teary-eyed and hum an affirmative.

“So pretty.” He murmurs, and you aren’t entirely certain that it was meant to be out loud.

You hum again, almost non-committally, as you feel the ache in your jaw.

Spike’s thrusting grew sloppy, “Where, love?”

You tapped his thigh with your right hand before gesturing to your mouth.

“Inside?”

“Mhmm.”

He pumped once, twice, three more times, a groaned warning leaving his mouth moments before you felt him spilling into you.

His hips had stalled, so you pulled back, holding only the tip between closed lips and clumsily stroked his cock to prolong his orgasm.

Spike was breathing heavily above you, removing himself from your mouth at the same time as hauling you up.

“Did you…?” His voice peters off as he focuses on fixing his clothes, glancing up in time to catch you shaking your head and massaging your jaw.

“Let’s rectify that immediately.”

He lifts you so suddenly that you don’t have time to disguise your squeak, placing you on the counter. Despite your most recent activities, you feel your face heat in embarrassment at his crooked smirk in response to your surprise.

As Spike begins to kneel, you stop him, opening your mouth to protest.

“Oh, Spike, it’s fine. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Part of the fun is the thrill, love. I want to.”

“Are you sure? I’ve never… There’s never been someone who wanted to do this for me.”

Spike scoffs, “Then you’ve been with losers.”

“Oh, and you know better, hm?”

“About this and many other things.” He says, voice low. “I want to give you pleasure.”

Your mouth goes dry, “Ok.”

“Since apparently, you’ve only ever been with idiots…” Spike mutters, definitely intending to keep the thought to himself.

“Ok.” You say louder this time, and he looks at you cheekily.

He pulls you to the edge of the counter first, slotting himself between your legs at the same time as he puts his hands on either side of you on the counter so that he can lean in, kissing you excruciatingly softly. You can’t believe it.

When he pulls back to leave hot, biting kisses at your throat, you can’t help but stare at him wide-eyed, feeling like your brain is leaking out of your ears.

You’re so preoccupied with your thoughts that you don’t even register that he’s stopped kissing marks around your collar and has begun removing your clothes.

Spike leaves your top half and shoes on, opting instead to only remove the clothing barriers necessary. He finally kneels, running his fingers over the line of your cunt through your underwear to feel the wetness.

Though you had agreed for him to pleasure you, you squirm under his touch, fidgeting to stop yourself from closing your thighs. As though sensing this, he uses one hand to push your left leg away, effectively allowing him to pull your underwear to the side and repeat the motion he had earlier.

“Oh fuck.” You gasp, arching into him and then lifting your hips slightly to help him in his quest to free you. You place your clothes beneath you so that your bare skin doesn’t have to come in contact with the freezing countertop.

Spike’s touches grow bolder, fingers moving purposefully against your swollen entrance.

As you watch him, you notice that while his breathing has calmed down, he now looks as though he’s just shy of hyperventilating in excitement. Ever the loverboy.

“Is this from riding my shoe?”

“And you face-fucking me.”

“Ah, yes. We mustn’t forget that…” Spike’s voice made you aware that he probably never would forget it, or at least not for a very long, long time.

Your clit is aching so hard you feel as though your entire body is pulsing in time with it. Honestly, when you had left tonight, you had expected to maybe pick up a guy and kiss for a while to sate the bone-deep desire to be touched before retiring to the safety of your abode, where you could rub yourself to completion while imagining the scenario in front of you.

This was much better.

Spike, oblivious to your musing, has spent this time mapping your body with his hands, with the hand bracing your leg open, his thumb runs distracted, almost soothing circles as he kisses the other thigh. His free hand has made its home underneath what little clothing you still have on, finding your nipple with practised ease as he teases the sensitive skin there.

You shiver under all the attention, spreading your legs wider in encouragement, earlier embarrassment totally forgotten with the notion of Spike touching you properly.

The feeling of his warm breath against your mound is all the warning you get before he finally licks into you, top to bottom, so eagerly that the immediate relief you feel against your neglected flesh is palpable.

Wheezing, you tip your head back much the same as he had earlier, bumping your head on the tiles of the bathroom wall.

“Relax, love. Don’t want to damage that pretty head of yours.”

You whine at the removal of his mouth, wriggling slightly to tell him to get a move on, and he can’t help but huff a laugh.

This isn’t your first time being eaten out, almost surprisingly from the horror stories you’d heard. But this is different. This is Spike; he had maybe a century under his belt at this point, and the experience showed. Where other partners had offered in the past, once they actually got down to it, it was obviously because they felt some sense of duty, as though your pleasure was nothing more than an obligation when it came to having you fulfil their own desires in turn. Their focus shifted as soon as they thought they’d done a sufficient job to whatever they deemed the next step was.

In comparison, Spike seemed to relish at the opportunity, borderline worshipful in his actions. It’s nearly mind-blowing.

As your body goes lax against the countertop, Spike positions your legs up over his shoulders now that you’re making a concentrated effort to remain available to him. No longer holding your thighs agape, his thumb instead refocuses that circular motion against your clit so that while he explores other aspects of your mound, your hips don’t jump, and your aching flesh doesn’t feel neglected.

You try not to thrash under the attention, the action of holding you down alone has your heart squeezing tight in your chest.

Spike continues to lave his tongue against you, tasting. His movements— the softness of his tongue against you— create such delicious friction that you can see your chest moving as you pant, feeling as though your head is spinning.

“Fuck.” You gasp when Spike drags the muscle over your sensitive clit, hips jerking despite your best efforts. “Fuck, please. Please, Spike.”

Spike somehow pays close attention to each of your body’s cues. Every breath, whimper, and sharp intake of air. His movements reveal his desire to find what makes you react the most as he tries to match the motions to your sounds.

Your knees, still over his shoulders, tilt outwards. Conscious to not dig the heel of your shoes into his back, your toes clench uselessly within their confines.

Your breath stutters when he bears down more intensely, seemingly finding a pattern that draws the most satisfactory rhythm out of you, though you’re certainly not complaining.

“I’m close.” You moan, arm thrown over your face to muffle your noises. Even though the Bronze plays it’s music unbearably loud at times, you couldn’t risk people loitering outside the bathroom hearing you, much to Spike’s chagrin.

He sucks your clit into his mouth harshly, and you shudder against his face, vision blanking as you feel your orgasm finally, finally, wash over you. You can’t hold back your whines as the hot static pleasure radiates from the apex of your thighs out through what feels like the fibre of your being, writhing as Spike draws every last drop of pleasure that he can from you until you’re shivering with oversensitive aftershocks.

You have every intention of speaking, but after that, you can barely get words out, let alone calm your racing heart.

“Better?” Spike asks.

“Much,” You manage to respond, voice wavering, and you begin to redress.

As though sent from the Hellmouth herself, three knocks ring from the door, swiftly followed by Willow’s anxious calling of your name. Feeling like you’ve been plunged into cold water, you freeze, wide eyes staring at Spike with urgency as though he could magically grant you the ability to speak.

“Spike? Are you guys still in there?”

Spike groans, hanging his head. Thankfully, you find your voice again in time to interrupt whatever the vamp may have said.

“Yeah, Will, we’re still in here.”

“Oh good, ‘cause you know, Buffy and I were thinking of getting out of here, but we didn’t want to ditch you. Are you feeling better?”

From this side of the door, you could just make out Buffy’s snort and casual “I bet they do.”

“I am, thanks. Um, just give me a second, ok. I’m… I got more upset than I thought I would at that guy. Spike’s been…” You scramble to find an excuse. “Spike’s been telling me embarrassing stories.”

“I have not!” He responds indignantly, then shrinking back under your glare. “They’re not embarrassing anyway.”

“We’ll be out in a second.” You finish.

“Ok. We’ll be at the car.” Buffy says.

You finish redressing and, with Spike’s outstretched hand as guidance, gracefully find your footing on solid ground once more. Assessment of your reflection leaves you reluctantly optimistic that you don’t look like you just experienced a defining sexual encounter for this lifetime, though your lips were swollen and you’d have to cover your neck somehow. You glanced wordlessly at Spike, who was already watching you with an unexpected fondness in his eye.

“Can I wear your duster?”

“What?” Obviously, this was not the question he had expected.

You tilted your neck to more effectively point out the purple lovebites forming, “You freaking lay into me like some sort of— well.” You gesture at him, causing Spike to roll his eyes as he mentally finishes the sentence.

“Fine.” He hands the large leather coat over to you, pulling it back slightly before you grab it to ask, “And how will I be getting this back?”

“You’re coming home with me?”

“Oh, am I now?” He passed the duster to you, watching as you put it on and manoeuvred the collar to better hide the marks on your neck. His already poorly disguised amusement was not helped by the smug grin he wore.

“Obviously.” You paused, walking to the bathroom’s wretched door, “Unless you’re not game.”

“No, I’m game—”

“Good, for a second there, I thought your refractory period might take forever, considering your age.”

Spike guffawed at you. “Yeah, right. I’ll have you know my ‘refractory period’ is perfectly fine, thank you. Perfect even.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Spike’s arm went beside your head as he opened the door for you, allowing you to keep your entirely too pleased smile to yourself as you excited and made your way out of the Bronze, feeling his presence close behind you the entire time.

As promised, Buffy and Willow stood steadfast around the car. Willow was already in her seat picking at something near the window, and Buffy outside of the driver’s side door, scanning the surroundings. Her expression was only slightly too stern, almost reminiscent of a bouncer or security guard off duty, ever the slayer.

You rubbed your eyes and yawned as you got closer, a perfect facsimile of exhaustion.

Which… Though you were tired, your body thrummed with the knowledge that your night was only just beginning.

“Hey guys.” Buffy smiled when she noticed your arrival, opening the door to let herself in.

“Hey Buff.”

Willow looked up from her seat in the Jeep, and you watched in real time as you noticed what you were wearing and tilted her head in silent question.

To answer, you hooked your hands under the flaps of the duster slightly, twirling as you walked so that the leather flared out around you.

“Pretty cool, right? I can see why he wears it. I feel like Dracula.” You paused, “Or maybe a leather princess.”

Buffy snorted, no doubt seeing the exasperated face Spike was making in reaction to your words.

“Hey, speaking of Dracula,” You leant against the open window into the car, “could we drop Spike off? I don’t wanna forget to give him the coat back and have to walk into the crypt at night.”

“Sure, that’s fine.” Buffy said, Willow nodding beside her, quiet now as the night caught up.

You whirled around to face Spike, recovering quickly as you startled at how close he was and gave him an exaggerated thumbs up before making your way to ‘your’ seat.

“Where to, Spike?” Buffy was watching him carefully through the rearview mirror. For his part, Spike was already looking out the window, watching the gradually moving night scenery through windows that weren’t blacked out for once.

“Oh, just their place is fine. I can walk back after there.”

Amusement coloured Buffy’s voice, “If you say so.”

[katsukikisses]

birds of a feather: chapter two [hawks x reader]

chapter summary: keigo invites you over for the first time and lets you check out his wing-keeping kit. in the process, you learn a few things about his world.

chapter tags: childhood friends; neighbors trope; alternating povs; taking care of keigo's wings as a love language.

cw: prejudice; socioeconomic differences?

prefer to read on ao3? here!

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“'Do not enter' is written on the door way, Why can't everyone just go away? Except you, you can stay, — Alex G, Treehouse

The first time Keigo invited you over, you were ecstatic. 

The invite in itself was long overdue: the two of you had been friends for a year and neighbors for nearly two, so the fact that you’d never once stepped foot in his house during that period seemed like an intentional oversight. You didn’t mind always hanging out at yours’ (rather, you quite liked having Keigo inside your house), but you were insatiably curious about how your hybrid friend lived. You wanted to know what color his bedsheets were, what kind of cereal lined his pantry—everything there was to know about a person, really. 

However, your parents always told you that inviting yourself over was very rude, so you never pushed. You figured there was a reason for his hesitance and eventually stopped asking “ Your place or mine? ” on the walk home from school, letting your house become the default hang-out spot. That’s why, when, on a gray, inconspicuous Tuesday, Keigo asked if you’d like to come over, you were completely caught off guard.

“Wha—?” you sputtered, suddenly having lost the ability to form sentences, “Me, over? House?”

Keigo looked pleased at the state you’d been reduced to. “Yes, you-over-house,” he mocked, “We can even us-play-video games.”

“Shut up,” you reddened. “I’m just surprised since we usually go to mine. B-but I don’t mind going to yours at all! Let’s hurry.” 

You shifted your backpack higher up on your shoulders and began speed-walking down the street, leaving Keigo behind you. You didn’t want to give him the time to change his mind. The blonde snorted, but quickened his pace to match yours. 

Soon, the two of you made it to your street. You took a brief moment to dash inside your own house and yell that you were going to Keigo’s—eliciting surprised Okays from your parents—before dashing back across the street to Keigo’s side. Laughing at your eagerness, he unlatched the front door and entered, leaving you to follow. 

Your first impression of the Takami household was that it was similar to yours: staircase left of the foyer, living room connected to the kitchen. The similarities were to be expected, given that your houses were most likely built by the same construction company—but that was where they ended. Unlike your house, which your mother kept fastidiously white and empty, Keigo’s was full of life. The walls were painted a pretty sage green, and lined with pictures of Keigo, his mother, and an older couple you assumed were his grandparents. The windowsills were also filled with all sorts of plants and herbs, adding a welcome splash of color to the room. It was a stark contrast to the sad, blank interior of your own abode—Keigo’s house had character .

“I know it’s not as nice as yours,” Keigo apologized as he watched you take in your surroundings. “My mom insists on keeping all these dumb plants and—”

“Keigo, I love your house!” you exclaimed, cutting him off. “It’s so much prettier compared to mine. I wish Mom would let us paint our walls or keep plants, but apparently Architectural Digest says that’s not Beige Chic , or whatever.”

Keigo smiled. He knew he shouldn’t have doubted your reaction. “Okay, well once you’re done admiring my pretty house, come upstairs so I can beat you at Mario Kart.”

Your eyes flashed excitedly, immediately leaving the picture you were inspecting to follow after Keigo. “Sure you will. Hey, remind me again who’s the reigning champion?”

The blonde gave you an irritated look, but before he could retort, you were pushing past him up the stairs and into his bedroom. This was what you’d been most curious about on your walk back, and you couldn’t wait any longer to see it. Ignoring Keigo’s words of protest, you opened the door.

“Wow,” you blinked at the sight. “It’s very…angry.”

You didn’t know what you’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been… this . Keigo’s bedroom was practically devoid of anything except for Endeavor , his favorite superhero. The walls were plastered with posters of the flame hero, and a row of his figurines lined Keigo’s desk. Atop his twin-sized bed sat a small Endeavor stuffie, which smoldered at you menacingly from across the room. 

You spun around to face your friend. “Keigo, I didn’t you were a fanboy!”

In the doorway of his room, Keigo flushed a red that rivaled his plumage. 

“It’s not—I’m not a fanboy ,” he sputtered, “I just happen to like the show! And they always have a lot of his merch at the thrift and—you know what, I don’t need to explain myself to you. Just sit down.”

Laughing, you took a seat on the carpet and faced his XBox. “Whatever you say, fanboy .”

Keigo valiantly ignored your comment and began rifling through a box of controllers. You took this time to take in the rest of his room, which, aside from the Endeavor paraphernalia, was completely unassuming. There wasn’t much furniture other than a bed and desk, and what little else Keigo did possess was painted in dull shades of grey. The only splash of color was the green sweater he’d been wearing yesterday, now stuffed haphazardly into his drawers. Your eyes lazily followed the outline of the cabinet, until they reached the small box resting atop it.  

“What’s that?” you pointed to the box curiously.

Keigo looked up from where he’d been setting up the XBox—an ancient thing he and his mom had scored at Goodwill—and spotted what you were pointing at. “Oh, that’s my wing-keeping kit.”

“Wing-keeping?”

“Yeah,” he shifted his wings, letting them catch rays from the window. The red plumes gleamed like rubies. “You didn’t think they were naturally like this, did you? This kind of exquisiteness requires serious upkeep, YN”

“Oh,” you said dumbly. The sight of Keigo’s feathers fluttering was nothing short of mesmerizing, and, for some reason, you liked that he was showing off to you. “Can I see the tools?”

The words left your mouth before you could think about them. You watched as Keigo’s wings immediately came to a still, and you internally groaned. Here we go. 

Over the course of your year-long friendship with Keigo, you’d come to learn a lot about the blonde. You knew that he liked superhero shows (specifically Endeavor: Legend of the Flame) and that his favorite subject was History. He could run a 7-minute mile—the fastest out of all the fourth-grade boys—and was a fiend for fried chicken. You knew that, despite being relatively popular, he didn’t really like the other kids at school, and you were probably the closest thing to a best friend that he had. And most importantly, you knew to never, ever talk about hybrids around him. 

At first, you figured he was just annoyed by your questions. As the only hybrid in your class, Keigo was constantly being probed by your classmates about his wings or eye markings. He’d never ignore them, of course, always answering their queries good-naturedly—but the tight-lipped smile he wore during those interactions betrayed his agitation. As your friendship progressed and you interacted more frequently with the blonde, though, you realized it wasn’t just questions about himself that irritated Keigo—it was whenever humans talked about hybrids at all. The week your class covered Japan’s history of hybrid discrimination, Keigo had resolutely faced the window and didn’t take a single note; and whenever Endeavor fought a hybrid villain on screen, Keigo huffed and asked to skip the episode. Little incidents like those deterred you from asking any questions related to his bird appendages, and even more from inquiring about the reason behind his anger. 

Thus, you’d gone an entire year avoiding discussing anything hybrid-related with him. You figured that, as with him not inviting you in, he’d eventually get over it—you were sitting in his room right now, weren’t you? Plus, he couldn’t hate humans altogether if he was friends with you. There must be a logical reason behind his behavior, you reasoned.

Except, you’d blown any chance of that happening, now that you opened your big fat mouth and asked about his wings. And the first time he invited me over, too, you bemoaned internally. You’d at least wanted to see the kitchen before you got kicked out!

“Um, sorry,” you backtracked, “I don’t know why I asked that. It’s personal, I know—sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Keigo replied, equally hesitant. He took a deep breath as if preparing himself for a daunting task. “Um, if you really want to see, I can show you. The tools, I mean.”

Your jaw nearly fell to the ground. “Really? I can see?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal,” he said, sounding as though it were absolutely a big deal. He walked over to his cabinet and swiped the kit off the top. You watched, disbelieving, as he made his way back to you and deposited it unceremoniously in your lap. 

The first thing you registered about the kit was that it was heavy—heavier than it looked. It was constructed of smooth wood paneling and about the size of a book, with no indication of what resided within it save for a small feather engraved on the top, and perhaps the faint smell of essential oils emitting from it Your fingers fluttered over the ridges of the box, and, with one final seeking glance at Keigo, you lifted the lid off the top. 

As the smell suggested, the inside of the kit was lined with various vials of oil, each labeled something different. Laying next to the oils, their sharp edges cushioned by the velvet interior, was a collection of tools: shears of various sizes as well as several brushes and clippers. They glinted menacingly in the afternoon light, causing you to reign in a shudder; you couldn’t imagine using tools like that on your own body. 

Keigo watched your expression carefully. “I have to trim and condition my feathers about every two weeks,” he explained, “Or else they’ll get tangled and torn.” 

“I didn’t realize they required so much attention,” you tore your gaze away from the box and faced him. And, for the second time that day, your mouth moved before your brain. “Can you show me? How you do it?”

“…Sure,” he said after a momentary pause, looking faintly bemused. “It’s been a while since I last trimmed them, anyway.” 

He began picking out various tools and oils from the box. You leaned forward, eager to see which ones he chose. When it came to Keigo, it was like you could never know enough. 

He lined the three oils he’d grabbed—labeled “primaries”, “secondaries”, and “contour”, respectively—on the floor. “The different oils are for different parts of my wings,” he said, extending out his left wing as he spoke. “My primary feathers are these long feathers out here, and the inner ones are called secondaries. And these are my contour feathers, which make me more aerodynamic—they help me fly better, basically,” he amended, noticing your blank stare. “But before I do that, I have to trim them.”

As he finished his explanation, he removed a large tablecloth from the bottom of the kit and unfolded it on the floor. He picked up one of the shears he’d taken out earlier and began trimming off the edges of his wings. Red tufts fluttered to the floor, like autumn leaves shaken out of a tree. You stared, enthralled, before his earlier words registered in your mind. 

“Wait, fly? I thought you weren’t…allowed to,” you trailed off, realizing you were approaching dangerous territory. Hybrid Limitations were one of the most contentious topics in Japan, and you figured that Keigo, as an avian hybrid, would have his share of thoughts on it. 

Instead of becoming upset, though, he merely shook his head. “I’m not,” he confirmed. His words were punctuated by the steady snip of shears coming down around another feather. “This kit was passed down to me from my grandfather, and during his time there weren’t restrictions on winged hybrids. So it still contains flight-care stuff.”

“Oh,” you said, “Do you wish you could fly?” 

Keigo peered at you through the folds of his wing. Randomly, you were struck by the memory of the first time he came to your house; cold and wet, focused on drying off his wings while you chattered annoyingly at him. 

“Maybe,” he set down the shears and picked up one of the vials of oil. Surprised, you realized he was already done with trimming. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get to, though.”

Keigo gave his wings a firm ruffle, shaking off any lingering feather trimmings. Then, he poured a small bit of oil into his palms and began carding them gently through his longest feathers—the primaries, you recalled. You watched in silence as he worked down his wing, coating each plume in a thin layer of oil. Usually when Keigo was focused on something, he had a look of intense concentration on his face: brows pinched, eyes narrowed. Yet, now, his expression was relaxed and peaceful—this must be calming for him.

As he got closer to his inner feathers, though, he had to strain his neck to oil them properly, and his tranquil expression dissolved into a more concentrated one. “My mom usually helps me with the back,” he explained, sounding slightly frustrated, “It’s harder for me to see back there and—”

“I can help you,” you said. Keigo’s hands stilled in his wings, and you wondered a bit too late if your offer had been inappropriate. But you’d already breached all sorts of boundaries today, so what was one more? 

Keigo cleared his throat. “Um, sure. Come, uh—come closer.” 

“Okay,” you shuffled over to behind him. “Um, what do I…”

“Grab the oil labeled ‘secondaries’.”

“Okay.”

“Pour a little into your hands—yeah, that’s good. And let it heat up a bit in your palms.”

“Okay.”

“Now, you see the feathers at the bottom of my wings? The shorter ones.”

“Yeah.”

“Work the oil into them, from the root to the ends.” 

“Okay,” you gulped. Your hands, covered in a sharp-smelling oil, shook as you reached toward the feathers. I have to do this right , you thought determinedly—you couldn’t bear it if you accidentally hurt Keigo. 

Slowly, you grabbed the outermost feather and began working the oil into it. If your own hands hadn’t been shaking so badly, you might’ve noticed the way Keigo’s wings shuddered, too. 

After you got through the first few feathers without doing any damage—and leaving Keigo content, seemingly—you became more confident in your abilities. Your movements were more fluid, and your shoulders untensed—you could see why your friend found this relaxing. 

Once you finished the secondaries, you moved on to the last section: his contour feathers. You picked up the appropriately labeled oil and found that it was much fuller than the other two. Recalling what he said about not being able to fly, you sadly realized that those feathers probably didn’t get as much use as his other ones, therefore needing less maintenance. With newfound vigor, you uncapped the vial and poured a generous amount into your palms.

“I hope,” you began, “That you get a lot of use out of this oil one day.”

“I hope not,” Keigo replied, “That’s the most expensive one.”

(He knew what you meant, though.)

It was rare for Takami Toomie to see her house during the day. 

Well, it was nearing evening, technically, but sunlight was sunlight. Between her job at the restaurant, the hospital, and…the other one, she’d practically become a vampire—she couldn’t remember the last time she came home before midnight. But today all the stars had aligned perfectly: her coworker had agreed to cover her shift, the hospital hadn’t called her in, and—best of all—the fried chicken ordered from their restaurant never got picked up, leaving it up for grabs. 

Toomie recalled staring at the steaming bucket of chicken for the entire pick-up hour, and then snatching it up as soon as time was up. She’d flushed when her coworkers saw her shove the food into her bag, but their judgment would be nothing compared to the joy of seeing Keigo smile—something that happened too infrequently for Toomie’s liking. Though, it's not exactly like I encourage him to be more carefree... 

Shaking off her guilt, Tookie pushed through the front door of her home. She smiled at the sight of rays filtering in through the window and meandered over to the kitchen, where she set down the bucket. A glance at the clock told her that Keigo was already back at school, and her smile widened. They could eat together! 

She grabbed her phone from her bag and began searching for the LNs contact. She assumed Keigo was with them, considering he slept over practically every day now. It was a development she tried not to be too bothered by, as she knew it was lonely for him here. Still, she couldn’t help but be wary of the situation. YN seemed like a sweet kid, on the few occasions she’d met them, but one could never be sure…

She sighed as finally found the contact. Keigo would be a little upset at being called back early, she figured, but his disappointment would definitely disappear as soon as he saw the chicken. Plus, the two of them hadn’t had dinner together in forever. Reaffirmed in her decision, Toomie made to hit Call on the contact—but just as her finger was about to tap the screen, she heard the faintest sounds of conversation emanating from upstairs. 

Toomie paused. It sounded like two kids...did Keigo have a friend over? Curiously, she made her way to the stairwell and strained to listen, wings shifting nervously behind her. Keigo never told her that he was bringing someone over, and he wasn’t the type to sneak around behind her back, either. Immediately, terrible thoughts filled her head. What if someone had followed Keigo home and they were hurting him upstairs? Or what if someone had broken in and were robbing them? Panicked, she dropped her phone and sprinted up the stairs, wings flapping madly behind her. They ached from disuse, but she didn’t even register the pain. Her only thoughts were Keigo, Keigo, Keigo. 

She threw open his bedroom door, and the sight that greeted her was more horrible than any robbery or bullying. Keigo was sitting on the floor, wings spread out to their maximum length, while you kneeled behind him, gently carding oil through his inner-most feathers. Next to you was Keigo’s wing-keeping kit—a gift from his grandfather, her father —with various tools and vials spilling out of it. Everything was out in the open for you to see.

At the sound of the door hitting the wall, Keigo turned around. “Mom?” his eyes widened. “When did you get back?”

“Just now,” she replied, her eyes flitting between the two of you. “You didn’t tell me you were having guests over, Keigo.”

Hearing this, you sheepishly stood and bowed to her. Your hands, still covered in oil, hung awkwardly in the hair. 

“I’m sorry for coming over uninvited, Takami-san,” you apologized, “I should’ve had my parents call you.” 

At the sight of your nervousness, Toomie’s agitation subsided. “It’s alright, YN-chan,” she said, attempting a kind tone. But her day had been long and she’d worked the night shift beforehand and—she just wanted to have dinner with her son. “I’m just surprised, is all. Plus, it’s Keigo who should’ve said something.”

She turned her attention back to her son. “You need to tell me when you have hu—people over, Kei.”

She barely managed to cover her slip-up. Keigo raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her. 

“Well, I didn’t know you were even going to see them, since you don’t usually get back until later. Why are you back this early anyway?”

Toomie groaned internally. Wasn’t he a little young for the rebellious stage? “I got off work early,” she said tightly, “And I thought we could have dinner toge—”

“Is that chicken?” Keigo cut her off, finally registering the mouth-watering smell wafting from the kitchen. His wings, freshly clipped and conditioned, raised excitedly. Toomie couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“Oh, well then I should probably go,” you said awkwardly, wiping your oil-covered hands off on your school uniform. Toomie wished she could’ve told you to not do that, as wing-keeping oils were notoriously difficult to get out of clothes—your skirt would permanently have greasy handprints on them now. But before she could say something, you were nimbly sliding past her in the doorway and into the hall. 

“Please enjoy your dinner!” you smiled at the two of them. 

Keigo jumped up from his spot on the floor and ran after you. “Wait, YN,” he said, “Don’t go yet.” 

He glanced briefly at his mother, asking her an unspoken question. But the woman was looking at you, still wringing your hands awkwardly in the hallway.

Toomie exhaled softly through her nose. After all those free dinners they gave Keigo, she thought miserably, Practically every day of the year…how could I even come close to repaying them? 

“Yes, YN-chan, we would love for you stay for dinner,” she lied, “Do you like fried chicken?” 

Your eyes practically sparkled as you thanked her excitedly, assuring her that, yes, you loved fried chicken. As the three of you made your way down the stairs, Keigo pulling you by the wrist, Toomie couldn’t help but mourn her lost dinner. The bucket was a share-size, yet with how much Keigo ate, he could probably put away the entire thing—it had been a stretch for the two of them to share, much less three people. Looks like you and Keigo would be enjoying an adult-free dinner, tonight. Toomie sighed, resigning herself to a trip to the konbini. She’d refrained from snacking on kitchen scraps and sent-back meals as she usually did during her shift, not wanting to spoil her appetite, and this was what she got. Honestly, with her evening plans now canceled, she might just head back to work—clearly, she could use the extra money. 

Toomie watched as Keigo tugged you into the kitchen and began pulling plates and silverware out of the drawers. She wondered how she could gracefully bow out of the dinner—kids didn’t really think too hard about those sorts of interactions, but she also didn’t want you to report back to your parents that Toomie didn’t bother spending any time with you. She was already going to be the mom who brought back a bucket of fried chicken as dinner, for God’s sake.  

Still ruminating over her dilemma, Toomie didn’t notice you seemingly lost in your own thoughts. Even as Keigo set the dinner table—for three people, the little idealist—you remained standing, simply staring at the bucket. 

“Actually, Keigo-kun, Takami-san,” you started, spinning around to face them, “I have a good idea! My parents are having yakisoba tonight, along with some other vegetables. Fried chicken goes great with yakisoba, doesn’t it? We should take it over to my house and eat together! My mom’s always asking you to come over anyways, Takami-san.”

You finished with a bright grin on your face. Toomie only blinked in response. 

(Perhaps you deserved a little more credit than she gave you.) 

“That’s really nice of you to offer, dear. I think we’ll take you up on that.” Toomie managed. From across the kitchen, Keigo gaped at her—she knew he’d expected her to decline. “You’re too kind, YN-chan.” 

You, too, seemed shocked that Toomie actually accepted—a deserved reaction, considering the amount of times she’d turned down your family’s invitations in the past. But you recovered quickly, your blinding grin overtaking your face once more.

“It’s my pleasure,” you said brightly. You picked up the bucket of chicken and started out the door, suddenly heading the whole operation. “I hope we can eat before the sun sets!” 

Keigo hurriedly shoved the plates back into the drawers and dashed after you, calling for you to wait for him. Toomie smiled at the sight, before sighing again and walking over to the fridge. She began rifling through its contents—some leftovers from work, a pack of expired beer—in hopes of dredging up a side dish. Impromptu as this dinner was, she couldn’t be so pathetic as to only show up with cold fried chicken. 

Yet, even as Toomie peered into her frighteningly empty fridge, she couldn’t help but feel content with the outcome of her evening. Absolutely nothing about it had gone to plan—but Keigo was smiling, wasn’t he?  

Maybe YN would be good for them, Toomie admitted. 

Next Chapter (

author's note: Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I'm sorry it took so long to come out. This chapter explores more of Keigo's life since the first chapter was very reader-focused, but Toomie's also able to give us an outsider's perspective on YN. I think due to having very present and communicative parents she's become emotionally intelligent at a young age (which I see in a lot of the kids at the private school I work at lol); however, a lot of the practical application still depends on socializing with kids her age and besides Keigo she doesn't have a lot of practice with that…but we'll see more in the coming chapters 🫣🫣

Thanks for reading and I can't wait to see you guys in the next chapter!

[knightjpg]

landslide | chapter 3

chapter tags: (light) stalking, alcohol/alcohol consumption, reader has a toxic boyfriend

prev | next

Just the one time. 

You won't even notice, Ghost reasons to himself. He'll just be another spectre haunting London; a phantom passing through. Just once. Just to see— 

To soothe. Yes, that's what it is. He's just fulfilling a final duty, a tribute to the woman who made his brother smile like he'd never seen a day of hardship in his life. 

It's not hard to track you down. Years may have gone by, but Ghost has a photo, a name, and a bloodhound's tenacity for sniffing out the details. The anonymous bustle of London loses out against his patience, and really, people are creatures of habit. They seek comfort in the known; in their routine. 

Ghost observes yours. From afar, at first—a shadow lurking in alleyways you give a wide berth to. This is good. This is how it's meant to be. We get dirty, Price's voice echoes in his skull. So the world stays— 

After a week it gets harder to justify. You're alive and well. Have a steady job and a roof over your head. A boyfriend. You're not rude enough to drunk twats calling after you when get off work, but you clutch the closest thing to pepper spray in your hand after dark.  

Smart girl. 

It's time to step away. Simon died; a tombstone doesn't fit into the constraints of your daily life. He's let go before. He can—has to—do it again. 

“Sure, honey. Whatever you say.” 

... 

Just— 

Just the one time. 

Ghost pretends he's doing a stakeout. There's a mission, and there's a target. Simple. Easy. Muscle memory. 

When you walk through the café door, bell jingling against the wood, he's supposed to be casual. Uninterested; aloof—just another guy getting his daily fix. He knows he stands out with his bulk, but it's London: who's going to care? No one's going to think twice about his being here. He just has to keep it cool, go through the motions of reading his book without picking up any of the words. Then, naturally, look up— 

(sure, honey—) 

—and. Fuck. He is so unprepared. 

You keep your hair a little shorter these days. Still no ring on your finger—Simon breathes out slow—but a pendant around your neck has taken up a fixed presence. A gift? It's hard to tell. 

You're a little older, sure, but you're so— 

You're so... 

He ducks his head just in time, ballcap throwing his face into shadow to avoid your curious glance. Caught staring. He curses at himself—is he a fucking professional or what? 

Your name is called out, and you take your order with a grateful thanks. Ghost chances a peek while you're preoccupied. 

Christ. You're so pretty. 

Not just pretty—beautiful. Not like how he remembers, but also exactly how he remembers. The way you shift your weight, the quick gesture of your head when you shake the hair out of your face. Your smile, a flash of teeth. 

It's a perfect fit. A lost puzzle piece slots into place, lines up a bridge between the past with the present— 

“Oh, I'm so glad you're here,” you tell him with a sigh, plopping down heavily in the chair beside him. “If anyone asks me to dance I have a sprained ankle, okay?” 

Simon gives you a solemn nod, eyes sliding from the dancefloor to your figure bending down to untie your shoes. Your hair is done up beautifully for today, and he's overcome with the desire to reach out and touch the nape of your neck. 

He forces it down and watches Tommy and Beth swaying to a slow song, eyes closed. You sigh, flexing your toes. 

“Hurt?” Simon asks. 

“Just tired,” you smile. “Beth's cousin are nice, but every time I sit they—oh, God, there's one of them.” 

You unsuccessfully try to hide behind Simon's broad shoulders. One of your hands presses against his arm for balance, small imprint of warm through his nicest white blouse. 

Simon's heart lurches. He leans into your touch like a lodestone. 

“She's got a sprained ankle, mate,” he tells Beth's cousin before he can open his mouth. “Gotta rest.” 

The boy swallows a thinly veiled tsk when Simon speaks up, then tries again. “I'm sorry, love, was I too rough on you? Do you want me to get you ice? Or a drink? Or—” 

“Got it handled here,” Simon cuts in curtly.  

Simon likes Beth. Likes her family fine, too—he and Tommy grew up on a low bar, but still he can see they're alright folk. And Simon would never start shit on their wedding day. He's got better manners than that. 

But people get caught up in weddings, spurred on by booze and a festive mood. They grow loose-lipped, handsy, jovial. 

Simon's more than happy to put cousin what'shisname in his place should he forget it. 

The cousin lingers for a moment, but eventually tucks his tail between his legs and sets off to the drinks bar. Simon eyes his retreat warily. 

“Oh,” you sigh, sagging against Simon's back for a moment before pulling yourself upright. “Thanks so much. You're my hero.” 

—a wildflower in his barren desertscape. 

 

He'd wondered if it would hurt any more than it does every other day of his life. A living, breathing reminder of everything that he's lost; Ghost is not immune to pain. Even corpses bleed. 

He finds it doesn't matter. Whatever he might have felt is drowned out by something else, a lighthouse smacking him in the face with the same blinding light he chased when he crawled out of the dirt— 

Familiar. Quickly followed by, mine. Something that earns its intimacy simply by being known; hauntingly so, but he wants it. Wants to have it, wants to allow himself this smidge of nostalgia. 

(You're my hero.) 

Self-denial pushed to the extreme rebounds off the wall and crashes against him like a wave. Saltwater mixes with old dusty sediment, rips out dead old roots as it pulls him down, a landslide— 

And it's trouble. Ghost knows it. But— 

He's always had an appetite for the thrill of danger, careful, might get hurt;  

and he figures one more scar won't make much of a difference. 

----------

The alcohol tastes bitter on your tongue. You swirl the liquid in your glass and wish you could jump into the miniature whirlpool; to simply let the disappointment and the hurt and the insecurity all be washed away.  

Your phone beep...beep...beeps until: 

“The person you are attempting to call cannot be reached at this time. To leave a message, press—” 

You shove it back in your pocket with an angry twist of your mouth. That's four times for this month alone. How many was it last month? And the one before that? 

Maybe you should stop counting. 

The alcohol does the opposite from soothing your bad mood. You know your limits and steer clear of that line; over the years you've found it's never worth the headache or the nausea the next day.  

Another drink and things will start getting fuzzier, which means it's time to call a friend or a cab and leave. Be smart. Be careful. 

Your fingers dig into the glass. You stay seated on your stool.  

Maybe you should've accepted when a bloke offered you a drink. Sorry, you'd smiled. Waiting for my boyfriend. 

Fuck your boyfriend. 

The spite sours as soon as it wells up, leaving guilt in its wake. What's wrong with you? You'd never cheat on Dave. You've been the subject of that kind of betrayal too often; know the pain too well. You won't be that kind of person. 

You down the last of your drink, just about to get up when a large man wearing a dark hoodie seats himself on the stool next to you. 

You pause. It's not busy; there's plenty of empty stools to choose from. Coincidence or a sign of interest? Would it be rude to leave immediately after he's sat down?  

Would it be worse to wait for him to say something instead? 

Hesitation lies heavily in your stomach, alcohol and loneliness making you feel unsure, slow. The indecision keeps your eyes down on your empty glass while you fiddle with a coaster and tell yourself to stop being so self-absorbed. It doesn't mean anything; it's not about you. People can come to the bar just for a— 

“Drink?” the stranger asks you. 

Your eyes flit up. 

He's wearing a ballcap—go Manchester—which, under the dim lights of the bar, obscures most of his features. Still, you catch the end tail of a nasty scar running down his cheek. 

This is where trepidation should come in. A sixth sense of self-preservation telling you in red letters do not touch. Do not go here. 

Do not trespass. 

But: 

something about him is familiar.  

Maybe that's why you're less guarded. Less careful. You're lonely, abandoned, stood up; one last drink won't hurt. Will it? Because, really— 

It's just a drink, you tell yourself. If he tries anything you'll make a scene.  

God knows you've got plenty of pent-up anger to let loose. 

“Sure, okay,” you say, and the man waves the bartender over. You watch him pour the drink, and offer the stranger a half-hearted smile as you raise your glass in cheers. 

“You alone?” 

“I have a boyfriend,” you say, trying for casual nonchalance and ending up somewhere close to abandoned cat on the roadside. There's even a tremor at the end of your voice to go with it. 

And you thought tonight wouldn't get any more pathetic. 

The man tilts his head. “He gonna come pick y’up?” 

You tap your phone's screen out of habit: no notifications. You shake your head. The bar suddenly feels too loud, too sharp; too real. You realise that until now you'd still clung to the idea that Dave's caller ID would pop up any moment, that any second the next face walking into the bar would be his. 

It's not going to happen. 

You know it's not. But all by yourself you could still believe—lure yourself into the protective delusion that Dave wouldn't stand you up again. Not after missing your anniversary dinner, surely. 

Your throat closes against a sob clawing its way up. Christ. You try to wrestle it down, cover your quivering lips with a hand. You're drunk. Drunk and acting like an idiot— 

Your stranger does a little hum. “He a twat?” 

The delivery is so dry you hiccup a strange laugh-sob. “Some—sometimes. Maybe it's my fault. I don't know what I—” You stop yourself and breathe. Cling to the shred of sobriety left in you. “Sorry. You don't care about any of this.” 

The bloke shifts on his stool, turning his torso more towards you and leaning one of his big forearms on the tacky bar as he does. The end of a tattoo sleeve peeks out from his hoodie, abstract lines old and sun-faded.  

“Could listen.” 

You blink, and— 

there's your apartment, your front door, the jingle of keys. Body moving on autopilot, dropping bag and shoes and slumping onto your bed. 

Your mind is slow, hazy; muddled by fatigue and cocktails. How'd you get home again? 

A flash of obnoxious radio music. The dangle of car freshener against a dark windshield. 

That's right. Had one drink too much, and called— 

You frown against your sheets. Called... 

A low voice in your ear, telling you to mind your feet. Not Dave—bigger than Dave. One strong arm keeping you from wobbling, and the other opening the door to a cab. Smelled nice. Safe. A friend? 

“I saw Simon's boots in the hall. Did he stop by?” 

“He did. Came to save me from Tommy's hovering.” 

You finish pouring Beth's smoothie—thick, fruity, calorie-dense—and hand it to her. She sighs in relief, carefully shifting in her seat so she doesn't jostle Joseph while she's breastfeeding. 

“Thanks so much. God,” and she takes a big sip, “that's good. Everyone tells you breastfeeding makes you hungry, but oh my god, it makes you hungry.” 

You laugh a little, patting her leg. “You're doing great, mumma.” 

“I hope so.” Beth looks down at Joseph, stroking his blond wispy hairs. “We're thinking about moving. Not for a while, but—maybe next year.” Beth gestures to the little flat apartment. “Tommy's been doing really well at work, and we want Joseph to be able to run around in a yard.” 

As if summoned, the front door opens and closes. Boots thump against the doormat; the coathanger rattles with the weight of thick padded jackets. 

“I think that's a lovely idea,” you smile. “Just let me know and I'll help.” 

Beth's face softens. “Thank you.” 

She looks exhausted, but extraordinarily happy at the same time. You're so happy for her—so happy for both of them—yet can't help the occasional tug of envy. You're not sure if you want children, not yet, but the look of devotion in Tommy's eyes when he crosses the room to kiss Beth and Joseph's cheeks is hard not to want for yourself. 

“Alright?” 

You lift your eyes to Simon. He looks freshly windswept from their walk, hair mussed and cheeks ruddy. For some reason it makes you feel— 

You duck your head, nodding. “Yeah.”  

You suddenly feel a little shy, out of place. To give yourself something to do you collect empty cups to put away—and stumble on one of Joseph's toys lying around. 

Simon's arm shoots out to steady you, and in your attempt to balance yourself you bump headfirst into his chest. You quickly remove yourself, cheeks burning. 

“Thanks...” 

In between dreaming and waking, the memory of a voice murmurs in your ear;  

“Steady now.” 

----------

Ghost watches the cab drive away with a pensive expression. 

You're not happy. 

He watched you for over an hour, his pretty lonely girl sipping fruity cocktails at the bar. Waiting for the ungrateful cunt to bother showing up. 

Because your boyfriend is an ungrateful cunt, going by the way you nearly cried into his arms. Simon hadn't been privy to the details, lived off second-hand stories from Tommy and sometimes Beth, and there's too many gaps in his memories to be sure. 

But he knows— 

I'm tired of the shitty boyfriends. 

Beth's playful smile loops in his head. Ghost feels sorry for you, and yet— 

some sick part of him is pleased.  

Relieved. 

You need him. Haven't learned yet to winnow the wheat from the chaff; can't see that your precious time and effort is wasted on undeserving shits. 

Tonight was supposed to be the last time; a final goodbye. Closure for the dead. That last push he needed to stop himself from reaching out and saying it's me— 

Simon. 

But this changes things. Ghost turns his back on the night, and disappears into the shadows. 

It's time to make some phone calls. 

[mullermilkshake]

Suguru is late for dinner.

MINORS DNI - Tags: Yakuza AU, references to Fem! Reader, graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, organs, references to castration, gutting.

<- Back to arc masterlist

"Mr Geto, I can finish this. You're getting blood all over your clothes and you have dinner with your wife tonight."

The squelching of muscle and bone never bothered Suguru. Not the cutting of tendons or viscera along his serrated gold plated blade, or the pathetic cries once someone realised not to cross him and begged for their life to swear loyalty to the Geto family.

Why the hell would Suguru trust anyone who tired to steal from him, cause a disturbance in one of his clubs and they bare face lie to him after?

No. He could already hear you in his ear, telling him straight what he already knew. Never let someone take you for a fool twice.

"It's perfectly fine Miguel, she'll understand if I'm a little late."

You would. He realised pretty early on in the marriage that you pretty much had no issue with whatever he did, as long as he had a reason to follow it through.

By now, Suguru was wrist deep inside the mans torso, rummaging around in the chest cavity for one reason in particular. "Which one do you think this little group of Yakuza will appreciate more, Miguel?"

"Anything that's disrespectful."

"That's true," Suguru pulled out a clump of everything from the hole he had cut. "While the lungs are prominent, they're a little bulky... maybe the heart, but it's a little too predictable."

The man on the table once belonged to a small up and coming group of Yakuza men, they had come from a rural area to Shinjuku looking for real estate. Satoru had already dealt with the majority of them, Suguru was taking care of the stranglers to add insult to injury.

Miguel approached the table with a casual stance and leant against the wall. “His head would be good but then the shipping cost would be a pain,"

"Maybe I could cut off his cock and send that instead, it's disrespectful enough, right?" Suguru shook off his hands and glared down at the body on the table. "No. That's too good for him."

He glanced at the clock on the wall and tutted. "You took up way too much of my time, didn't you?"

The body never replied which was disrespectful enough. "Miguel, take this piece of shit and dump him somewhere they'll find him. Sending a body part somehow seems too formal for scum."

"Yes sir."

This whole operation wasn't for nothing, but when you realised that Suguru pretty much cut up a man for no reason, well, he'd have to make it up to you.

He was already late for dinner when his pager went. Cleaning himself off, Suguru checked it. "Shit..."

316... There was only one reason someone would page him that code.

"Sir?"

"Change of plans. Call my wife immediately and tell her we'll need to do dinner tomorrow. Sukuna needs me for a meeting, it's urgent. I'll make it up to her."

"She isn't going to be happy, is she?"

"No, but if you play your cards right, maybe she'll set some food aside for you, it's better someone eats, instead of it going to waste. Take her some flowers in the meantime once you've finished with our friend here."

Suguru watched Miguel grin and start moving the body, you would have gone to much trouble making dinner tonight and it was only right you still ate with someone, even if it wasn't Suguru.

He wiped off his hands, cursing to himself for the inopportune moment to pull an emergency meeting when Suguru had just been to clan headquarters earlier that day.

But, still was life and being a lieutenant called for this attention.

This better be good.

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[kittynugg]

i wrote some more stangst. forgst, if you will

prev stangst

words: 1,737 (see what i did there.)

p.s: reblogs are appreciated, and do not tag as ship. all interactions are platonic. also this one is gonna be a lot worse than the last one i speedran it im so so sorry i'll probably revisit this later

Ford glanced down to the dimensional translator on his wrist. Gifted to him by a group of refugees before he escaped the nightmare realm, it was.. Something. He was still figuring out half of the features, but he’d deduced that it worked as a translator, watch (counting the days since it happened was fun. Thirty-two days), and a wallet holding a currency called “credits”. Luckily for him, all the places he’d been to seemed to take them.

The entire multiverse had a universal currency except for Home. He’d be damned.

In front of him stood a large, futuristic building with a holographic sign that read, “HUMAN HOTEL”. With smaller text saying, “The authentic Earth experience!” Ford doubted that. Regardless, it was the first hotel he’d seen that didn’t look.. bad. But with all good things came caveats. Because the hotel was not bad, he could not afford it.

Did he want food, or shelter?

He looked up at the sky, stars and distant dimensions twinkling above him in a display that was beautiful for the first few days he’d spent in this hellscape, and sighed. It wasn’t beautiful anymore. He missed when it was beautiful.

It’d been a while since he’d slept. Running on empty like this was a horrible idea.

Food for that day had been taken care of– he ate at a restaurant just down the street (well, he’d heard people call them “systems”, but he stuck to calling them streets for familiarity). But if he spent money on a hotel he wouldn’t eat later. But if he spent money on food he’d have to either stay awake even longer than he already had or find somewhere else to sleep. Somewhere he’d be much more vulnerable than a hotel room.

..Maybe he just wanted to sleep in a bed. Fine. Fine! He’d admit! It’d been a while!

Look at him. He had an education and he was trying to decide between sleeping or eating. It just felt like “bad or worse”! This was.. Frankly, this was bullshit. What did he do to deserve this!? 

…

He didn’t get it. 

A deep breath was taken, and he steeled himself. With every problem came a solution. And he was going to find it. 

Ideas already ran through his mind– what if he.. Tried to charm the receptionist?

He walked up to the receptionist with a completely blank expression. “I like your face hole!” chirped Ford in a too-loud voice, and the receptionist screamed and clocked him in the head with a tape dispenser.

Right, he was terrible with people. 

Perhaps he could break in.

Ford cackled maniacally as he pushed down the plunger of a comically-large detonator, and the wall blew up in a spray of debris. About five seconds later the police showed up and he had a different place to stay the night– wherever they took criminals in the multiverse.

No, and why was that fantasy so cartoonish?

As he denied several more plans, he decided that nothing would work. Then he’d just.. Go a little longer without sleep, that was fine. That was great, even! So great that he didn’t want to look at that sign anymore, or the building!

Two.. people? Walked past him, and a snippet of their conversation registered in his mind. “Yeah, so, I’m just gonna say it. I was totally lying.” “Ooh, you are just a bitch!”

Curiosity about whatever drama they were in aside, maybe lying wasn’t a bad idea.. Yes! That was it! But what lie to tell? His eyes darted around.

There was no sign of a real human in the area, he noted as he side-eyed an m-shaped person walking past. Hopefully he never found what dimension that was from. No humans in a place made to be human like. That was exploitable. 

Like second nature (he assumed it was all the liars in his family) he spun what he could only hope was a believable story, took a breath, put on his “social interaction” face, and walked up to the entrance. He fixed his coat and smoothed out his hair.

“You gotta look like you belong,” he remembered him saying in high school. The day he shoplifted beer from a gas station. “Nobody’ll give you shit if you ARE the shit, y’see?”

Maybe he could do something good for once instead of ruining Ford’s life. Again. 

Ford pushed the door open with that idle smile he trained himself to keep on around people, looking around the room. It looked.. Just like a hotel back on Earth, he noted in spite of the striking appearance it had outside, adjusting his translator until the person at the desk made sense.

“Khoor, zho- pbzr gb gur- human hotel! How can I help you?” They leaned against the counter, a nametag pinned to their shirt reading.. Symbols he didn’t care to translate at the moment. 

In spite of his exhaustion, he greeted them with a small wave. “Hello! I was sent from Earth to judge the validity of this establishment’s claims.” He did air-quotes with his fingers (nobody seemed to mind that he had six) as he recited, “‘The authentic Earth experience’-- we have laws against false advertising.”

The receptionist blinked all four eyes at him, then narrowed them with concern. “Oh.. I see.” They nodded, a three-fingered hand raising to scratch at their chin. 

“It seems to me like the lobby is very authentic, but I’ll need to perform a thorough examination.” He made a show of looking around, appraising the interior decoration. Then his eyes darted to the room keys hanging on the wall behind the desk. Which rooms weren’t booked.. A random one was picked and he said, “room 104 is already reserved for me,” and then prayed.

Ford kicked the door to room 104 open with a thud, spinning the key on his finger with a triumphant laugh. Then he cleared his throat and politely closed the door behind him because he wasn’t an animal and there were other people here and he should be considerate. 

The key was lazily abandoned on the bedside table, and Ford faceplanted into the pillow. He didn’t even take off his shoes. That was how tired he was. Now that he’d hoodwinked his way into shelter, he could afford to eat something tomorrow. Perfect! And all it took was..

He sighed.

His advice. He couldn’t believe he’d listen to him after everything. No, he couldn’t believe that it worked! He couldn’t believe he stooped to his level, and was rewarded for it with a warm hotel room! For doing nothing! 

..It was a damn comfortable bed, though. 

“So what if I’m no better than him?” He asked himself. “Maybe.. Maybe he was onto something. Just because he had a vision doesn’t mean he’s in the right.”

Rolling onto his back, he stared at the ceiling.

“What am I if not a conman just like him and Dad..?” He dragged a hand down his face. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that the restaurant he’d eaten at earlier was called “Tom’s Existential Bites”, why would he eat at– and the slogan, “Food so good you’ll wonder what the point is if we’re all gonna die in the end”!? 

Shaking his head, he continued his little soliloquy. “What would he say about it? ..He’d probably encourage it.” A chuckle escaped him despite himself. He mumbled in his impression of Stan, “stealing’s fun, too, you should try it. Can’t afford to BUY anything.”

Scoffing, he silently questioned what prompted Stan to say that. “You’re the one who did this, if I were Home I’d be doing perfectly fine.”

“You’re not, though,” he felt deranged for responding to himself like this. But.. Stan’s voice was irritatingly soothing in a way. The first human beside his mother who made him feel human and the last human voice he’d ever hear beside his own. “And you’d still have to deal with–”

“Him.” This was devolving fast, that interruption came too naturally. He was too used to acting out non-player characters in Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons. Oh, fuck.

Ahem, ‘Stan’ replied, “yeah. Him. Never told me who ‘him’ is, by the way.” 

Familiarity was a thing humans clung to for dear life. That’s all this was. The desire for familiarity. This was his humanity shining through in a place where humans didn’t exist.

“I.. couldn’t tell you. But he’s hurt me.” A hand reflexively brushed underneath his right eye. “..Severely.”

“I’ll kill him. I swear, Ford. You know I’d do that for you, right?” 

He bit his lip, unsure if the statement was true. He wasn’t sure of anything. “Right. He’s much stronger than you think, though, he would just..” His chest tightened, and he hated it. This shouldn’t affect him. 

Alas, the thought of what Bill did to him– the thought of that happening to Stan– made his eyes sting with tears. “The shit he did to me.. I can only hope he’s not back Home right now, playing the same games with you.” He blinked, and a single tear rolled down his right eye.

“Don’t–” he took in a shaky breath. “Don’t cry. You’re better than this.” He pathetically cupped his own cheek to wipe away the tear, half-pretending it was Stan. “I’m not gonna fall for his shit, okay? Worry about yourself right now, get some rest.”

Ford’s brows furrowed, and he shook his head. “I wanted to,” he muttered, “but I don’t think I can.” He ran a hand down his face. “This must be how I made you feel. Trapped, afraid..”

“Hey, don’t be like that, you..” he trailed off, shaking his head. This was pointless. The quicker he rested up, the quicker he could get back to his mission, the quicker he could defeat Bill and live. The quicker he could fucking live.

He rolled over, not without a final plea under his breath. “..Please, Stanley.” A beat of silence passed. “Just please be okay.”

Stan was resourceful. That was how he survived after he got him kicked out. Stan would be fine.

He had to be.

“Love you, bro,” he said in Stan’s voice to himself. Why would Stan love him after everything?

He didn’t know, but he replied, “I love you too, Stanley.” The next words escaped him almost on instinct as he shut his eyes and already found himself drifting off. “..I’m sorry for everything.”